


Risks and Redemption

by Angelwingsl3 (Marie_Fanwriter)



Series: The Reaper and his Archangel [6]
Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: AU, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, M/M Rares, ME3, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-10-23 16:27:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17686958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marie_Fanwriter/pseuds/Angelwingsl3
Summary: Summary:As the greatest war the galaxy ever faced loomed on the horizon, few believed the Reapers would come. Garrus Vakarian had been named as a Special Advisor to the Primarch of Palaven, and he had sworn to do whatever he could to prepare his people.When the Reapers came, he stood on the front line. Ready to die for the cause.Excerpt:His omnitool pinged again, louder this time in a priority alert. Garrus brought up the screen and froze. The plates in his other hand fell and shattered on the floor much like life as they knew it was about to, as well.It had happened.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ooooOdefinitelynotafishgirlOoooo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ooooOdefinitelynotafishgirlOoooo/gifts).



> Please note, since this story is based in ME3 there will be major character deaths. I will not be marking individual chapters with a warning. Explicit sexual content will continue to be marked at the start of each chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to Reaper and his Archangel!
> 
> An interlude story -[ **Trials and Tenacity**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17479088)\- can be found here. It is set between ME2 and ME3, in case you missed it!
> 
> Betas: [**White_Aster**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/white_aster/pseuds/White%20Aster) and [**Some_Writer**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Some_Writer)
> 
> Theme Music: [**The Cranberries - Zombie**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Ejga4kJUts)

 

 

**Risk and Redemption - Chapter 1**

\---

A whoosh of air fell out of Garrus’ lungs. One hand rested against a mug, long gone cold. The other held a datapad, his thumb occasionally scrolling through the report as he read over the neverending updates. His shoulders were rounded in, exhausted from yet another long day that weighed heavily upon his back. Paperwork had always taken more out of him than running in the field. ‘Mental fatigue,’ they called it- a phrase so fitting that he would have laughed if he wasn’t so damn tired.

Garrus sat at the island counter in the kitchen of his family home; datapads were strewn across the surface. The room was warm, and the smell of dinner permeated the air, filling his nasal cavity. Beside him, Solana was toying with something on her omnitool, and across the counter, his father was standing over the heating unit. It would be ready shortly.

Evenings such as this had become routine.

Castis was retired, Solana was assigned to a regiment in Cipritine for the moment, and Garrus... well he was working for the Hierarchy now. A ‘Special Advisor’ to the Primarch of Palaven. He scoffed silently at the title, but at least it meant someone had listened to the mountains of evidence he’d brought back from the _Normandy._ His last communication with Shepard indicated that the other species were barely making any progress. Garrus already hated the glacial pace of the Hierarchy. He couldn’t imagine working slower.

Adjusting himself in the seat, Garrus stretched out his left leg. His foot had started falling asleep, and as the blood rushed back, he winced at the feeling of pins and needles.

“Alright, G?” Solana hummed without taking her eyes off the omnitool.

“Fine,” he said, standing to put weight on it. He was about to say more when his omnitool pinged with a message. Dropping the datapad onto the counter with a small clack, he flicked his wrist to bring the haptic interface to life. A minor note about batarian space waited for him, something to do with their comm relay system malfunctioning.

Garrus closed out the ‘tool, thinking nothing of it for the moment. Though they might beg to differ, batarians were not known for having solid technology. Within a few minutes, the sputter would disappear, and they’d be back up and running. He looked back at the datapad he’d been reading with distaste.

“That’s enough for now, Garrus,” Castis said as he turned around. “Food is ready.”

The sniper’s mandibles tilted into a smile. Ever since returning to Palaven, he and his father had been getting along. They still had moments, to be sure, but never before had they lived in harmony like now. Garrus didn’t know if it was because of his mother’s recent passing or his disappearance and subsequent brush with death. For the moment, it mattered about as much as the batarians' comms. Garrus was happy not to question it.

“I’ll get the plates,” he offered, walking over to the dish cabinet and returning with three in hand. Behind him, he heard the clinking of metal as Sol withdrew utensils from their drawer.

Moments like this, as he followed his family to the small round table by the kitchen windows overlooking the courtyard, were the times when Garrus missed Saren most. He hadn’t just lost a lover to this war, but the turian he’d come to consider family. The uncomplicated pleasure of sleeping beside him or sharing a meal was gone. Losing his mother concurrently was added salt to the wound.

His omnitool pinged again, louder this time in a priority alert. Garrus brought up the screen and froze. A turian listening post inside batarian space had managed to report in. Ships, hundreds of them, had breached the Vular system. The plates in his other hand fell and shattered on the floor much like life as they knew it was about to, as well.

It had happened.

“Fuck.”

The sound of the dishes crashing garnered the attention of Solana and Castis before his expletive did. They spun to look at him, still blissfully ignorant to the news Garrus found himself tasked to bring them. They had no idea how much their lives were about to change. He swallowed the pain down and explained. It only took one sentence.

“They’re here.”

Utensils scattered across the hardwood surface and Castis braced himself on the table.

As fast as his feet could carry him, Garrus ran to his room and armoured up. He slung a bag of emergency supplies over his shoulder, and the familiar weight of his rifle sat on his back. He bowed his head and gripped the edge of his desk in a final moment of peace before all hell broke loose.

When he turned, Solana and Castis were standing in the doorway.

Knowing that this moment could very well be their last, Garrus closed the gap with a few long strides. He placed a hand on both their shoulders at once, pulling them into him. His brow connected with Solana’s temple first and then his father’s.

Words caught in the back of his throat. A war with the Reapers was not a fight the Hierarchy could win, nor the galaxy. This would likely be the last time he saw either of them. Garrus was going to the front line; his odds were slim.

“I-”

His father pulled away and placed a solid hand on his face, gently cupping his injured mandible, making him pause. “You’ve given us a better chance than most, Garrus.”

Garrus could only nod. His eyes had already gone tight with worry, and his mandibles pinched in hard against his maxilla. Solana gripped his hand; he could feel the pressure through his gauntlet. “We know what to do,” she assured him. “We’ll do what we can from here.”

Looking between them, Garrus wasn’t sure how he got so lucky. Despite facing death so many times before, he'd managed to make it home. He’d reconciled with them. Going into this, the war to end all wars, his conscience was clear. They both knew the action plan. They would be ready when the time to use it came, and that was all he could provide.

So instead of rehashing what they already knew. Garrus took this last opportunity to tell them something he should have said more often. The words he wished he’d heard in Saren’s final moments with him. “I love you,” he said looking between them. “Both of you.”

Garrus let go. Their voices echoed in the hallway behind him. He did not look back.

\---

“You don’t understand!” Garrus shouted, his fists balled at his sides, and he barely managed to keep his voice level. “We’re not ready! Not by a long shot.”

“Rumours of ships on long-range scanners and other species’ equipment malfunctioning do not dictate how the Hierarchy functions, Advisor Vakarian,” Primarch Fedorian said in an even and quiet tone -his authority did not require a raised voice, he was the leader of their people, and thus everyone listened. “Batarian space has been invaded, not turian.”

They stood opposite one another at a long conference table in the Capitol building. Fedorian’s hands rested comfortably behind his back, and his crest raised proudly. He looked every part that a leader of the Turian Hierarchy should. His armour was pristine, and white markings were painted cleanly across unblemished plates. Between them, twelve Generals stood silently watching the exchange. Some were physically there; others were just holographic projections as the Generals were on their home colony or aboard their starships.

At the signs of possible invasion, the Hierarchy’s leadership had been called to meet with the Primarch. Around this table were Fedorian’s most trusted advisors and those next in line for the Primacy. Garrus knew this was his only chance to get the Hierarchy ahead of the Reaper threat, to instate the plans he’d drawn, and protect their people from destruction.

“It’s the Reapers,” Garrus reiterated, calming his voice down to a more reasonable level. If he wanted them to listen, he needed to maintain his decorum. “We have images from our listening post, a complete communications blackout from an entire system, and eyewitness accounts from multiple trade ships.” Pulling up his omnitool, Garrus projected an image of _Sovereign_ in the centre of the table. Through the orange hologram, he made eye contact with Fedorian. “It took the entire Citadel fleet to bring down one Reaper. There are far more than that now. They will not remain in batarian space forever.”

The Primarch’s eyes left him to study the hologram. Silence overtook the room, the sound of metal creaking as one of the generals shifted was the only noise. Garrus kept his gaze firmly on the Primarch and waited. He could be patient, at least for a minute.

The projected turian to Garrus’ right, General Corinthus, spoke up. “If we call our people to arms and this is a false alarm, you lose all credibility, Vakarian. Are you certain?”

Garrus stifled a growl and looked around the table, meeting each face with the same stoic determination that he held the bridge on Omega with. Garrus Vakarian had faced his own death too many times to count. He would not allow the Hierarchy to stand against the Reapers blind. He would not allow Saren’s sacrifice to be in vain. He had a job to do.

“I've faced down one of these things. I've heard one tell me how they will exterminate us. I've been working for the past six months to try to prepare us for them, knowing that we're running out of time. Believe me; I'd like nothing more than to say this was a false alarm. But it's not. The Reapers are _here,”_ Garrus said.

His eyes landed on General Victus last, standing in the middle of the table on the Primarch’s right. The unconventional turian was high enough in the chain to be heeded, even if he wasn’t next in line for Primarch. Victus was staring him down. He had been the entire meeting. His presence stood out among the others. He seemed to understand the weight of what Garrus was saying.

“Sir,” Victus finally directed his attention away from Garrus and to their superior. “It is time.”

Fedorian turned to face Victus, a hard set to his mandibles and ice in his voice. “Mobilize the fleets.” His eyes met Garrus’ next. “You have the con, Vakarian.”

Garrus wished relief could have washed over him, but it did not. Instead, the impending doom settled over his eyes like thick smoke. Even as he took command of the room once again, his authority absolute over turians twenty or more years his senior, his chest grew tighter.

This was real.

The Reapers had arrived to eradicate them, and it was Garrus’ job to lead his people unto the breach. There was no turning away now.

\---

Garrus’ back slammed into a boulder as he took cover. His heart pounded inside his chest, the brute charging him missing by barely a metre. He’d never seen anything like it, not before today. The mutated beast was something like a krogan and turian fused. An abomination worse than the cannibals and husks the Hierarchy had been facing in the past few days since the Reapers hit Palaven.

He didn’t have time to catch his breath. The brute was focusing on the other soldiers now. Garrus needed to act, or he’d lose the squad. Settling his sniper rifle against his shoulder, he lined up a shot on an obvious weak-point on… well, the beast’s ass. It didn’t have any protective plating there, and the rest of it was armoured.

“Hey, Ugly! Over here!” he called out, firing twice and hitting his mark.

It stopped the assault and roared as it spun around. The massive metal arm rose into the air in the moments before it began charging Garrus again.

“Shit,” he swore as he ducked into a combat roll to get out of harm’s way. The abomination galloped past him and into the boulder, destroying it. Again, he raised his rifle to his shoulder, letting off two more shots before needing to move. One of the plates on the brute’s shoulder sheared off and the second shot made it cry out in pain.

“Focus your fire!” he ordered to the four soldiers while he reloaded.

A chorus of ‘yes sirs’ came before a barrage of gunfire. Garrus’ breaths came in ragged gasps as he dodged again, trying to remain clear of the beast at it swung its arms wildly. It was on its last throes now, its movement erratic and swipes more dangerous because of it.

His sniper rifle was ripped from his hands and sent sailing through the air with another right hook as it charged him a fourth time. A second swipe left three distinct talon marks in the top layer of his chest plate and sent him flying. Garrus scrambled up, pulling his assault rifle from its place at his lower back. His shots concentrated on the brute’s head.

It went down.

“Thank the Spirits,” Garrus panted, catching himself against another outcropping of rocks. Menae regained its eternal silence around him, just distant explosions from the ongoing fight breaking the quiet of the moon's artificially still atmosphere.

The shifting of rocks brought Garrus’ attention away from the brute’s corpse. His assault rifle raised in the direction of movement only to find the four soldiers from earlier had come out from hiding. While his talon moved off the trigger, the tension did not leave his spine.

“Sir,” the first approached him, her weapon stowed and hands visible. She was shorter than him, but not by much, and her armour sigil showed she was a medic. “Are you injured?”

Garrus flicked his eye to get his visor’s stats scrolling across the screen. He didn’t trust his own assessment at the moment and relied on his armour’s readout. “Bruised, but fine.” Carefully he stood tall, retaking his sniper rifle when a second soldier offered it. This one was older, a Lieutenant. “Where is the rest of your squad, soldier?”

By the small shake of the turian's head, Garrus already knew the answer. “Dead, sir,” she said and pointed to the crumpled brute. “That… that _thing_ killed them all. We’re what’s left of Eriopis Squad.”

Eriopis had twelve turians last Garrus remembered. Two-thirds of them slaughtered by a single Reaper husk, no matter how big and ugly, was an unacceptable loss, one the Turian Hierarchy could not afford. “Scan the brute,” he ordered. They needed a way to counter this new monstrosity, better than dodge at close range. One of the other two did as he directed.

“What are our orders, sir?” the Lieutenant looked to him for direction, as so many others did now. The other three watched his helmeted face too, their stiff postures and shaking hands told him they were terrified. Rightfully so, he supposed. They all appeared to be in their primary service years, too young for this mess. It said something for the state of the war. Menae was a tightly guarded base, and sending recruits here was unheard of. Since the krogan rebellions, the Hierarchy had been using Menea to train Blackwatch soldiers and other specialized operatives. The moon used to be classified, apparently it wasn’t any longer.

Garrus’ expression was grim under his helmet. His tongue rested against the backline of his fangs as he steeled himself for the question he hated most. “Your squad’s bodies, where are they?”

The Lieutenant flinched. Her head tilted to the side in surrender, displaying her throat to him. “I’m sorry, sir. They were…” she cut off, and a strangled subvocal warble escaped.

He closed the distance between them and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. He hoped it would help. It’s something Shepard had done to so many shaken soldiers and civilians over the years. “You did your best, Lieutenant. I just need to know if they were taken.”

She shook her head, relaxing slightly at his gentle tone. “Incinerated, sir. As per orders. We- we didn’t get their ‘tools.”

“Remember their sacrifice,” he said, releasing her shoulder. “And give their names to your new Commander for the casualty list. You’ll reinforce Ajax Squad.”

Her crisp -“yes, sir,”- filled his head for the entire walk back to base. Garrus had been sent out to check on Eriopis, not to bring its small compliment home. The deaths grew with each passing day. They measured in the millions now. Looking up, he saw Palaven burning. The grim reminder overhead gave them no reprieve in the day-cycle hours, only pointing them away at night.

The Reapers gave them no reprieve, either. Those holding Menae slept in shifts, and it was always too short.

When they entered the camp, Garrus ensured the team was taken care of before heading to the Operations Centre. General Victus needed to know what had transpired -however much it pained him to be the bearer of bad news again.

He headed inside through one of the bunker-style doors and down a ramp into the beginning of the subterranean tunnels. It almost reminded him of a starship, the corridors were tight and well organized. The temperature below ground was warmer and the air cleaner. He removed his helmet and the air he breathed in, thankful, wasn’t stale. The Hierarchy terraformed Menae, large swaths of the surface had breathable air, but the fighting tossed ash into the atmosphere, the harder the base systems had to work to keep it that way.

Once he was down three floors, and far away from the active fighting outside, the salutes started. He thanked the Spirits turian salutes were more subtle than human ones. As he walked the halls, their voices met him and he responded in kind. The sound unnerved him in ways standing in a room of generals or facing down packs of husks did not. So many people relied on him.

_‘A failed C-Sec officer, vigilante... and I’m their expert advisor?’_

Keeping his face impassive and eyes forward, Garrus attempted to push the weight of the salutes away. He had a job to do. Prestige wasn’t the reason he returned to the Hierarchy. He hadn’t been looking to push his standing in the meritocracy, only fulfill his promises. And that thought he had to banish, too. After the Vular system, the Reapers attacked Sol. The Alliance had gone dark.

For all Garrus knew, Shepard and Saren were dead. Again.

“Vakarian,” Victus’ commanding voice dragged Garrus out of his head as he stepped into the General’s ready room in Ops. “I take it you encountered resistance?”

Garrus looked down at his chest plate, the scrapes in the armour more apparent in the light, and he shrugged. “Something like that.” His teeth clenched together for a moment to steel himself for the update: “Eriopis didn’t survive contact with a new type of husk.”

“Damn it,” Victus’ hand clenched against the edge of his desk, making his gauntlet creak. “Any survivors?”

“Four, I’ve assigned them to Ajax for the time being.”

“Good,” he sighed and ran his free hand through the blades of his fringe. They were alone, Victus seated behind his desk, and holographic projections of the battlefield were flickering between them. Garrus crossed the space, waiting until Victus nodded to the open chair to take a seat. “We need something to turn the tide. Otherwise, we stand to lose this moon, Vakarian.”

“We need to band together with the other species,” Garrus said seriously. “It’s the only way.”

Victus raised his chin slightly as he stared Garrus down, contemplating the idea. The silence between them interspersed with echoes of gunfire from the world above them. Garrus could almost see the gears turning behind his golden eyes as he worked through a thousand problems and solutions at once.

The batarians had been taken out by the first Reaper wave. The humans were next. Now, the Reapers had expanded to Palaven, and it was only a matter of time before they attacked the asari and salarians. Garrus knew the solution. There was only one.

“The krogan,” Victus said without breaking eye contact. “That’s how we fight back.”

\---

Victus sent word to the Primarch.

Now, all they could do was hold the moon and wait for Fedorian to act. As the weeks passed, Garrus continued to be an integral part of Victus’ team. A phrase Jeff used once or twice stuck in his mind, ‘when he says jump, you jump.’ Garrus felt like he had become the living embodiment of that phrase -especially so as he armoured up beside the other turian for battle.

“I will run point with Ajax squad,” Victus told him. “I need you providing cover.”

Garrus nodded, clipping his second gauntlet into place. “Yes, sir.”

“We need to protect the west flank,” he continued, his mandibles drawn tight against his maxilla. Garrus could understand the sentiment. Ever since the second Capital ship had dropped on Menae, they had been losing ground. “Primarch Fedorian arrives today.”

“I know the stakes, General.”

Victus turned to him, clasping his shoulder with one hand. “You might just be the only one that does, Vakarian.”

Garrus’ mandible flicked out in a grin. Humour at least was still second nature to him. “Not the only one,” he teased. “Just your favourite.”

The General scoffed, releasing him so they could don helmets. “I don’t know about that. Corinthus has been a friend a lot longer.”

“Mhm, but can he shoot the head clean off a husk at 2000 metres?” Victus eyed the Widow over Garrus’ shoulder for a moment, making Garrus’ grin widen until his mandible ached. “Ah, I see now. You just want me for my rifle.”

That got a full laugh out of Victus and with that sound echoing in his head, Garrus could almost forget that he was about to go out and face yet another onslaught of turian husks, marauders they called them. People that had been his fellow soldiers set against them. He wondered if this was how Shepard felt every time a human husk sprinted at them, clawing with blunt fingernails at the visor of his helmet? Regardless, Garrus had a job to do: protect Ajax and his Commanding Officer.

Outside the barracks, it was not long before the moans of husks began to echo in Garrus’ helm. The shooting started soon after. He sighed, at least the rhythmic boom of his rifle made it easier to forget all that was happening around him. It was just another mission like all the others. Kill the enemy, stay alive.

When the harvester came overhead, Garrus was not surprised to hear Victus shout: “Get that thing the hell off my men!”

“You got it!” he called back, veering off the beaten path and into the rocks.

It was a hike to the harvester’s drop off zone, about a kilometre to the north from where Victus and Ajax squad were fighting off hordes of Reaper drones. A pair of brutes were attempting to get through to the air base.

Garrus was not about to let that happen.

Bringing his rifle to his eye, he lined up a shot on the closer of the two massive krogan-turian hybrids. He and the other Hierarchy soldiers had learned to focus on one at a time; otherwise, the beasts would overrun them. It was easier to dodge and stay at range with a single brute as they tended to separate on the battlefield.

On top of the base wall, the soldiers caught on. Focusing on one first, which went down in a burst of flame as someone added incendiary ammunition, and then the second followed soon after. General Corinthus was in command of the airbase, Garrus headed for the entrance to check in with him.

Glancing at the chronometer in the top left section of his visor, he noted the time. Fedorian should have arrived already.

Inside, there was a flurry of activity. More than Garrus would have considered typical after a minor skirmish. He hoped it was due to the Primarch’s arrival, but he met Corinthus inside the command centre, helmetless, Garrus could see his tense mandibles. Before he said a word, Garrus knew it couldn’t be anything good.

“Vakarian, sir,” Corinthus snapped. “We’ve got a problem.”

Internally, he sighed at the honorific, but this wasn’t the time to adjust him for it, not with the tightness resting in the other males’ eyes. “What kind of problem, General?”

“It’s Primarch Fedorian,” Corinthus began, keeping his voice a touch lower and subvocals restricted. “His shuttle just went down. No survivors.”

Garrus felt his stomach drop out from under him. Knowing something was off and hearing the worst had happened were entirely different things. “Damn it,” he swore, dropping his chin.

“Fedorian called for a summit. A delegation from the Council is already here to get him.”

Taking a deep breath, Garrus removed his helmet. He knew Corinthus had been close with Fedorian. Regardless, the question had to be asked: “Who’s next in line?”

Corinthus shook his head. “Waiting for the comm tower to come back online. Word should be here soon from Palaven.” His gaze moved from Garrus down to the console in front of him, he tapped the interface and brought up a hologram of the tower. “The delegation seemed eager to help at least. They’re the ones clearing the husks out of the area.”

Garrus looked down, tracing the hologram with his eyes and committing it to memory. “Any idea who they were?”

“You’re going to love this,” he began, his mandible flicking into a smirk. “They sent Shepard.”

Before Garrus could say a word, both their attention snapped to Corinthus’ omnitool flaring to life. A static hiss preceded a familiar voice; one Garrus hadn’t been sure he’d ever hear again. _“General, do you read? The comm tower is now operational.”_

The weight seemed to leave Corinthus’ shoulders, not all of it, but enough so he could breathe. “Much appreciated, Commander. I’ll contact Palaven Command.”

 _“Let me know when you’ve got something,”_ Shepard replied. _“I’ll help your men till I hear from you.”_

“Understood,” Corinthus cut the line and began working to get the message out to Palaven. It gave Garrus the moment’s reprieve he needed to come to terms with his best friend being alive and here, on Menae. “There,” he began again. “Now, we wait.”

Garrus couldn’t help himself, he swallowed down the trepidation and forced his voice to be even. “Was there anyone with Shepard?”

Corinthus eyed him suspiciously but answered regardless. “They weren’t introduced. An asari and another human -if that helps?” Keeping the disappointment off his face was impossible and the General, of course, noticed. “Vakarian?”

Shaking his head, Garrus looked away. “It’s nothing.”

Before Corinthus could say more, the console pinged. He pulled up the interface and read the message. His expression seemed torn between abject horror and amusement. “It’s Victus,” he said with an air of disbelief.

At the name, Garrus understood the sentiment. As far as Victus was down the list of Generals, it meant the Hierarchy was dying. But in a way, Garrus also knew it was good for the Hierarchy. With Victus at the helm, they stood a chance.

“I’ll see if I can raise him on comms,” Garrus said.

“Go. When Shepard gets back, you can escort him to Victus.”

Garrus left the General and headed inside the next building over. On the way, he stowed his rifle on his back and pulled up his omnitool interface. All he managed was static. Inside, he leaned over a console and attempted to use the base’s signal booster to get through. Some quick talon strokes over the keys had the program set on a rotating frequency. Still, nothing.

His fist slammed against the metal surface as Garus vented just a touch of his frustration. He squeezed his eyes closed and then let out a lungful of air. “Get a grip, Vakarian,” he mumbled to himself. “Now isn’t the time.”

Opening his eyes, he refocused on the console and tried a few more tricks. When he failed a third time, he saw the gates opening in the corner of his eyes. Three non-turians entered the base, two he recognized: Shepard and Liara. One was new, and he was sure they’d be acquainted eventually.

Pushing off the desk, he headed outdoors and back to Corinthus’ command centre.

Shepard appeared to be in an argument with the General. His voice was raised and damn if hearing it didn’t bring a small, hard-won smile to his face. “I need someone--I don’t care who, as long as they can get us the turian resources we need.”

“I’m on it, Shepard,” Garrus cut in. “We’ll find you the Primarch.”

“Garrus!” Shepard called out, his head whipping around as the turian approached. “You’re alive.”

He took the human’s hand, a grin spreading his mandibles. “I’m hard to kill. You should know that.”

\---

The routine never seemed to change.

Even with Doctor Chakwas, whom he saw most days, time dragged on. Her presence helped the monotony, if not the loneliness. Keeping Garrus from his thoughts was impossible. She refused to share more with him than the fact his love was alive. There were no updates nor details on his condition or whereabouts.

Two hundred and thirty-six days Saren spent in confinement. They melded together mostly, time went by in great spurts intermixed with long stretches of silence. Whatever the Doctor was doing, between many injections, scans and more than a few surgeries, it appeared to be working. After one-hundred and eighty-two days, the Reapers no longer spoke to him.

Hard-pressed as he would have been to admit it, the silence was almost worse than the nagging whispers. With nothing but the sound of the environmental systems, he thought he might go mad. The guards did not speak around him beyond orders, and the Doctor was always busy in his company. Eventually, when he could stand it no longer, he asked Chakwas for music. She obliged.

Each weekday during their sessions, she would play something. It was always different from salarian throat singing to asari operatic. It helped to pass the time, and keep Saren sane through the mental exercises and continuous assessments she had him do.

On this particular day, Saren woke to the typical scrape of his breakfast tray sliding through the airlock. But something was off. He could hear voices on the other side. Sitting up slowly, without a sound, Saren listened in.

“-see why we’re still keeping him f-”

The voice cut out as the airlock closed. He stood from the bed, stepping across the metre-wide gap in two easy strides, and fetched his meal. The same vat-grown protein breakfast as always waited for him. He took it to the small desk and ate before going about his hygiene regimen. The sentence was incomplete. It wasn’t enough for him to determine what they meant.

It was, however, enough for him to mull over. In this world of routine, anything outside the ordinary caught Saren’s attention. He hadn’t seen Chakwas for three days, though that was not unusual. Otherwise, the drill was stable including his PT schedule. The guards came to fetch him about an hour after breakfast.

 _“Time to go, Arterius,”_ his regular jailer said over the intercom, breaking him from his thoughts.

Saren stood and walked to the door, placing his hands into the airlock for the guard to cuff. She did so with practiced ease, and he stepped away so she could open the cell door. Another change became apparent when he entered the hallway. Instead of four, Saren had six guards. They were all helmeted and armed, but that was typical.

There was a noticeable change in the Lieutenant’s terse voice as she ordered him to move. Her words were clipped and tone harsh. On the way to the PT room, they encountered no one. Generally, a stay officer or two would have been in the halls - not today. Saren strained his hearing, but he couldn’t even hear voices in the rooms they passed.

“You have one hour,” the Lieutenant reminded him as she undid the cuffs. Looking past her, he could see three of the guards had assault rifles trained on his form. Security was being taken slightly more serious than normal. The oddity had him tenser than if they had changed nothing.

Now, he knew something was afoot.

Without further comment, they left him alone once again. Saren rubbed at his chafed wrist for a moment as he began to pace the length of the room to warm-up. He was confused by the differences today, and a sinking feeling in his gut said it had to be time. The Reapers must have come for the plan to shift.

His walking pace increased to a run, and then to wind sprints. If the Reapers were truly here, he needed to prepare. Trapped as he was, Saren had to be at full strength in case Shepard called for him. He ran his tongue along the back of his fangs, pressing down hard enough to taste blood. He needed to believe the human survived the initial hit.

Without Shepard, the Reapers doomed them all.

On the _Normandy,_ they’d discussed possible entry vectors for the Reapers. There was no telling which relay they would enter through with the Alpha relay destroyed - if they even used one. From Doctor T’Soni’s archaeological work, they did know the devastation would be widespread within a few weeks. Political centres and military bases would be hit first to confuse the populous, and population centers would be attacked before rural areas so they could harvest husks.

Thirty minutes in, Saren could feel sweat beading between his plates. His breaths came in ragged pants, the air around him was stifling and under-filtered. He switched to callisthenics, using the added focus required to keep himself from spiralling. Garrus was out there, without him. In prison, there was nothing he could do.

It might already be too late.

He nearly face-planted on the next burpee. Growling, Saren reset his hand position and continued his routine. He had to force those thoughts away. They were unproductive.

Saren knew that if he broke out, he’d be considered a traitor all over. He needed to wait for a call. Otherwise, all of the Doctor’s work was for nothing. Months of trials and tests were useless. What felt like a lifetime away from Garrus was meaningless. As much pain as it caused, he had to remain here, confined.

An idea formed in his mind. At the least, he could find out more if he saw the Doctor. She would not need to say anything, he knew her well enough. Standing, he began a kata. Hands and feet moving in a choreographed pattern. He shut his eyes, moving faster and toward one of the barriers that kept him confined.

His fist slammed into the wall, hard enough for a bone in his middle finger to fracture and for the skin to catch and break. Years as a Spectre had made him familiar with that feeling, but despite that, he still winced.

Walking to the door, he knocked twice and then stepped back with his hands in front of him. A few moments later, the Lieutenant's voice met him. “What is it, Arterius?”

“I require a physician,” he said and raised his bodied hand to demonstrate the reason. There was some whispered chatter he couldn’t make out before the door opened. He waited for the officers to come to him and accepted the cuffs readily.

They led him out, down the hallway to the interrogation room turned laboratory. Inside, he was sat down at the table, the cuffs attached to the surface. Even as the Lieutenant left, the rest of the guards stayed, their rifles trained on his head.

Waiting took longer than Saren expected. Well over an hour and more than enough time for the blood to congeal and harden over his knuckles. The Doctor had not been on site. Eventually, the door opened.

“Arterius,” Chakwas greeted as she entered, her tone disapproving. The Lieutenant had already informed her of the minor injury. “I hear you were overzealous?”

Saren turned his head to look at her, a mandible shifting into the slightest of smirks. While the others were passingly familiar with turian expressions, Karin had become quite in tune with his specifically and would catch the shift. “Perhaps.”

Her pristine brow raised, even as she crossed the room and headed for her supplies cabinet. Without turning around, she spoke to the officers. “You can go, Lieutenant. I’ll call when we’re finished.”

“No can do, ma’am,” the officer replied firmly. “Orders.”

Karin turned, her mouth pressed into a firm line. “From whom?”

“Admiral Hackett himself, ma’am.” The Lieutenant had the decency to look uncomfortable, her helmeted gaze shifting from the Doctor to Saren for a moment before returning. “My apologies.”

The Doctor’s shoulders tightened imperceptibly to the humans’ eyes, but Saren could see the shift. He watched her gaze flick to him, almost in apology as she continued an entirely different conversation with the officers. “At least reduce your complement. I need space to work.”

Between the change in his guards and Chakwas’ suddenly reduced autonomy, Saren was able to fill in the blanks. Her anxiousness and the lingering scent of human blood that clung to her uniform spoke volumes more than she was able to say aloud.

The Reapers had come.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Excerpt:**  
>  Since the war started, this was the first-moment Garrus honestly felt like he had to himself. His eyes closed and his chin dipped to his chest. The scent of ash and blood were stuck in his nose, overpowering the warmth of the thanix cannon. Just a few minutes of quiet, then he would go back to work. But at this moment he could mourn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy chapter 2! Magrim is an original character who belongs to Some_writer and she's loving used with permission. 
> 
> Betas: [**White_Aster**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/white_aster/pseuds/White%20Aster) and [**Some_Writer**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Some_Writer)
> 
> Theme Music: [**D'Angelo - Unshaken**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L0AykH20X3Q)
> 
> (I know it's from Red Dead Redemption 2, but I loved this song and it played a lot while I wrote this chapter.)

 

**Risk and Redemption - Chapter 2**

\---

Walking onto the  _ Normandy _ should have felt like coming home. It should have been a relief of some sort, stepping off the battlefield and into safety. Instead, it only filled Garrus with a sense of trepidation. He was leaving behind thousands of his fellow soldiers and taking away their best chance for survival. It was for the best, he inherently knew that, but it did not take away the guilt.

The only thing that would have made it better was if he'd reunited with Saren, but Saren wasn’t there. Garrus had known that the second Corinthus had said that Shepard’s squadmates were human and asari. If Saren had been aboard, there was no way Shepard would have skipped over him on a turian world. His partner would have had valuable insight. Regardless, hearing Shepard tell him he did not know where Saren was, wasn’t easy. On the battlefield, while they’d been hunting down Victus, there hadn't been time to dwell.

Now, as he stood outside the door to his and Saren’s old quarters, it hit him like a lead brick. Garrus willed his hand to stop shaking as he pressed the door control. Inside, the furniture hadn’t moved, and the bed still made from the day he'd left the ship. He wasn’t sure if he just imagined Saren’s scent lingering or if it was still there. From what he’d seen, the crew deck was the same. Retrofits had been done on critical areas first.

Garrus gestured for Victus to enter. “These are your quarters, Primarch.”

Victus crossed the threshold and dropped his bag onto one of the couches before turning around and tilting his head to the side in question. “Unless the Alliance is in the habit of keeping turian-styled rooms on their vessels, these are yours, Vakarian.”

He shook his head. “I bunk in the main battery, sir.”

Despite his narrowing eyes, Victus let the subject drop. “I appreciate the tour. Once you set up, meet me in the War Room. We have a lot of work ahead of us.”

“Of course.” Garrus attempted a smile. He knew it didn’t reach his eyes. “I have some other duties to attend; the weapon system needs calibration. If you’ll excuse me?”

Victus waved him off, and Garrus headed deeper into the crew deck, his duffle thrown over his shoulder. Neither he nor Victus had brought many supplies with them from Menae. Garrus had a set of casuals and a spare weapon. Victus, he assumed, was similarly outfitted. They’d both left all the medigel and rations on their persons behind for the other soldiers. On the  _ Normandy, _ they could resupply, while the others could not.

Before hitting the battery, he stopped off to both restock his medigel supplies and say hello to Doctor Chakwas. However, when the door opened Karin wasn’t sitting there waiting for him.

“Garrus!” Doctor Michel exclaimed, standing from the desk and crossing to where the turian had frozen in place. “My goodness! What happened to your face?”

She reached out, and Garrus flinched away, making her expression drop. “I’m sorry,” he said, trying to get out of his head. “I was expecting Doctor Chakwas.”

“Ah, understandable,” the woman agreed. “She is on the Citadel, I’ve taken over her old posting here on the  _ Normandy. _ Perhaps I could assist you?”

As much as Garrus wanted to leave, he needed the supplies. “Just a medigel restock,” he said looking around and seeing that Michel reorganized the medical bay. “If you don’t mind?”

“Yes, that I can help with.” Chloe flitted off to search one of the cabinets. “It has been so long, how have you been?”

He blinked and ran one hand through the blades of his fringe, glad she was looking away. “Fine,” he lied. It was easier. He was regretting stopping more and more. The battery would be dark and quiet, just a few more minutes and he’d be there.

The Doctor brought him four packets of medigel and a jar of something. “Here you are,” she said with a smile, her gaze lingering just a few seconds too long on the scarred side of his face.

He decided against questioning the extra jar. Taking the supplies, he gave Michel a brief thanks and was gone. The main battery called to him, all white noise and solitude. When the door closed behind him, he let his shoulders drop. He tossed his bag and the supplies onto the workbench. He glanced briefly at the jar, and upon seeing it was an ointment for scars, he threw it into the trash with a growl. “Chakwas had better have a damn good reason for not being here,” he grumbled to himself.

Pacing the room didn’t help his restlessness. Instead, Garrus let himself slump against the console. His fingers tightened and loosened against the smooth interface, already seeming to itch toward algorithms despite the lingering exhaustion and mental fatigue.

Since the war started, this was the first moment Garrus honestly felt he had to himself. His eyes closed and his chin dipped to his chest. The scent of ash and blood were stuck in his nose, overpowering the warmth of the thanix cannon. Just a few minutes of quiet, then he would go back to work. But at this moment he could mourn.

When he finally opened his eyes again, he could see his reflection in the console glass -his blurred visage with deep scars painting half his face. It was no wonder Michel had given him something for them. On Menae, it was easy to forget they were there.

Garrus pressed the on-button and watched his face disappear as the haptic interface came to life. At least this was consistent: numbers and calculations were black and white. For now, he could deal with that.

\---

Garrus’ muscles ached from endless hours of running, his arms were gelatinous from the weight of his rifle, and his head was spinning from nonstop work with Primarch Victus. Running missions with Shepard never seemed to get any easier. On Sur’Kesh they’d liberated a fertile krogan female, in the Attican Traverse they’d nearly lost Grunt and ended up saving the Rachni Queen.

Now, as he sat in the mess hall half-asleep at the table, a second of breathing room was all they could afford in transit. The ground team was all present, as was Wrex.

“Glad you got the kid out of there, Shepard,” Wrex was saying around a mouthful of something grey and half-chewed. “Going to need blood like his for the new generation of krogan.”

Shepard nodded, finishing his bite before answering. “I’m just glad we got there when we did.”

Beside him, Liara put her hand on his arm. Garrus found his eyes drawn to the small gesture of affection, and he couldn’t tear his gaze away until Shepard put his hand over hers.

The Commander had always felt responsible for the young krogan. He was the one who removed him from the tank and helped him grow into more than a soldier. Shepard had almost seemed to treat Grunt as his adoptive son, and Grunt had treated the  _ Normandy _ crew as his krantt. Hell, even Garrus would have considered him and Saren a part of Grunt's strange family.

“He’s got some good scars now,” Wrex continued. “That’ll be good for him.”

Garrus could see Shepard’s jaw clench and chose to step in before he said something he’d regret. They needed to keep Wrex happy. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have an alliance for long. “So, Wrex. You think the female camps will integrate into the rest of society?”

The krogan turned his attention, pointing with his large krogan-style pronged fork. “Probably after a couple of years, why? You think you can nab yourself one?” He eyed Garrus’ scars.

He chuckled. “Scared I’ll be too much competition for you?”

“More than this one,” he shoved James’ shoulder. The human had some minor facial scarring, but nothing that would rival Garrus or Wrex.

“Hey!” the human complained. Despite being enormous for his species, the krogan was easily able to toss James around. “I’ll have you know the ladies love my scars.”

It got the whole table chuckling, and that was enough to break the tension for the moment. As high as stress was running on the  _ Normandy, _ it was no wonder everyone was on edge. Between having two krogan, two turians, a salarian and a bunch of humans on the ship, it was like the start of a bad joke.

Once the laughter died off, Garrus collected his dishes and headed for the kitchen. He set the kettle to boil and leaned against the countertop. He needed kava if he was going to be coherent enough to meet with Victus. Thinking ahead, he fetched two mugs.

The others went their separate ways while he waited and Vega appeared to put everyone else’s dishes into the cleaning unit. Once he was finished, and the deck emptied, save the two of them, he turned to the turian. “Think the Commander’s alright?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

Garrus looked at the Lieutenant side-long, uncrossing his arms to shrug. “As good as he’s going to be for a while, I think. Why?”

“I spent a lot of time with him on Earth, while the  _ Normandy _ was in for retrofits. Admiral Anderson assigned me as an aide. He’s always been stressed, but never like this.”

Clasping his shoulder, Garrus gave him an attempt at a smile. “Wrex is just good at -what’s the human phrase?- pressing his switches?”

James huffed. “Buttons, but yeah. I got it, Scars. Thanks.”

“Anytime, Jimmy.” Garrus let him go and returned to making kava, pouring steaming water over the grounds. But the human didn’t leave, not just yet. “Something else you needed?”

The man shifted uncomfortably. “What about you? It seems like you’re working just as hard as Shepard.”

He waved him off before picking up the two mugs. “Don’t waste your time worrying about me. It’s better spent working on your pull-ups.”

At Vega’s laughter, Garrus left him and headed for the elevator. The Primarch said there was a matter to discuss before they reached Tuchanka, and he sincerely hoped it wouldn’t take his entire evening. There was a new algorithm he wanted to try for the thanix, and then there was sleep he needed to find time for as well. He would be no use to Shepard running on empty.

\---

Garrus’ talons slid across the haptic interface, working through a new codeset. As always, the algorithms gave his mind something substantial to grasp, something concrete that did not change just because the Reapers had come.

Tuchanka had been a mess. Tarquin Victus was dead.

An error message flashed across the screen, and his hand flew to the delete key. He killed the entire line he’d just been working on. It was wrong, everything was wrong. Garrus closed his eyes, squeezing them shut for a few seconds before attempting to refocus. It hadn’t been this difficult since he’d rejoined the  _ Normandy _ after Omega.

Garrus adjusted his stance, hoping that would help. A Cerberus Phantom got too close earlier, and she'd stabbed him in the thigh. A damn small price to pay compared to the sacrifice Tarquin had made. But all the same, his leg burned. Chakwas would probably have laid into him had she been here, ordering him to rest or at least keep the weight off it. Michel’s directions took little effort to ignore.

When the squad arrived back on the  _ Normandy, _ he’d been the one to tell Adrien his son was dead. Shepard offered, but Garrus knew the protocol. It was his duty to tell Victus. At the least, he was able to say Tarquin died with honour. The comfort was cold. He hadn’t been surprised when the Primarch asked for privacy.

Garrus’ head drooped. The weight of the war descended on his shoulders all at once.

“I expected you to be asleep.”

Garrus’ hands gripped the edge of the console in surprise for a moment before releasing. Too lost in his head to hear the door.

“Primarch,” he said as he spun around. Behind him, standing in the doorway, was Primarch Victus. He was dressed down and leaning against the doorframe. His arms crossed over his keel. A tired but amused expression rested on his mandibles. “I didn’t hear you come in,” Garrus continued. “Been standing there long?”

“Long enough,” Victus replied as he shoved off the wall. “That was a hard mission today. I’m sure the calibrations can wait, Vakarian.”

His hand rose, one talon scratching absentmindedly at the scar beneath his right eye. The Primarch wasn’t wrong; it could wait. He just hadn’t felt much like sleeping. “I could say the same about you,” he deflected.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Victus admitted rather easily. “This ship is…” he paused, seeming to need a moment to find the right description, “Not turian.”

The elder male could have meant a thousand things by that comment. All Garrus could answer with was: “I know.” For he truly did. And all of those turian things still lingering on the  _ Normandy _ could only remind him of Saren.

“Would you join me for a drink?” Victus asked rather suddenly.

Where Garrus would have customarily found himself hesitant, mostly having secluded himself in the main battery save for missions and work in the war room, his answer came immediately. “Sure. I’ll meet you in the lounge on the port-side?”

Victus gave him a firm nod and turned to go. Just as Garrus went back to his console to save his miserable progress, the Primarch’s voice made him pause. “Get out of that armour, Vakarian. Your leg needs it.”

“Sir,” he answered, dropping his crest as he heard the door close. Just how long Victus had to of been standing there to notice, he wasn’t sure. The other turian was damn perceptive, but Garrus was subtle. At least when it came to injuries.

Regardless, he got changed into the only set of civi’s he had. It was a comfortable pair of training pants that slung low over his hips and a blue tunic. Hardly what one should wear for drinks with a Primarch, but considering the other turian had left his suit behind in favour of more casual clothes, perhaps this was more an evening for companionship than business. They were, after all, the only two turians aboard, and they’d served together for over two months now.

By the time he entered the lounge, Victus had already found the cheap dextro brandy. “Not much here for turian consumption, I’m afraid,” he said as he gestured to the single bottle.

Garrus shook his head, his mandibles sliding into a smirk. “You just don’t know where to look.” He shooed the older turian out from behind the bar and searched far into the back of the cabinet where Saren hid the good stuff far out of Grunt’s drunken purview. “Here.”

“Hiding the 2146, I see.” Victus laughed and poured two generous glasses, offering one to Garrus as he stood up.

“Krogan will drink just about anything,” Garrus shrugged, single armed. “Would be a waste.”

Victus brought the glass to his nose, pulling in the scent before taking a small sip. “Very true,” he said around the rim. He inclined his head to the couches, taking the bottle with him in a very deliberate show that they were going to be here a while.

Garrus didn’t bother to hide the slight limp. Victus had already commented on it, so there was no use. “I don’t remember the last time I had a drink,” Garrus said conversationally as he sat down beside the Primarch, facing the viewport. It was a bare thread of a conversation starter, but at least it wasn’t asking him how he was doing. He could only imagine how poorly that would have gone.

“My last drink was on Palaven,” Victus responded around a second sip. “Fedorian and I were standing in his office when the first turian outpost went dark.”

Apparently, keeping the conversation light was going to be impossible. “Sorry,” Garrus huffed before savouring a lengthy taste of his brandy.

But Victus shook his head. “None of that, Vakarian. You aren’t to blame for the Reapers. You may be the only reason any of us are still here now.”

He wasn’t sure why at that moment he got brave, but all the same, Garrus chuckled and said: “Then none of that either.”

The Primarch’s mandibles shifted into a grin as he looked over. “Deal.”

A handful of minutes passed by before either of them spoke again. It was a comfortable silence, broken only by talons against glassware and then liquid moving as Garrus poured them a second round. Outside, the mass effect field danced across the darkness of space.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Victus pointed out, gesturing to the void.

Garrus leaned back into the couch and hummed in agreement. “There’s something to be said for humanity’s love of space exploration. You’d never see something like this on a turian vessel.”

“Good point,” he chuckled. “Though, I could do for it to be a few degrees warmer.”

“EDI can do that in your quarters, at least,” Garrus mentioned around more brandy. He was already starting to feel a little warmer for the alcohol, especially when his muscles began to loosen.

“Really?”

The Advisor nodded and looked to the ceiling. “EDI, increase the temperature to Sa-” He stopped himself before he could say "to Saren’s preference." “-up six degrees centigrade.”

_ “Understood, Advisor Vakarian,” _ EDI’s voice piped in over the speakers. _ “Is there anything else I can assist you with?” _

Garrus shook his head as he replied. “Nothing, thank you.” 

_ “Logging you out.” _

When Garrus lowered his gaze, Victus was giving him that same quizzical stare that had rested on his mandibles before, when he'd first shown him to his quarters. “What aren’t you telling me, Vakarian?”

“It’s not important,” Garrus deflected again. 

Thankfully, the Primarch let it drop. “I appreciate the insider knowledge at least. Is the battery the same?”

“The gun runs hot regardless,” he answered with a single-armed shrug. “It’s always the warmest room on the  _ Normandy.” _

Victus took the time to refill his glass before offering to top off Garrus’. The younger turian accepted, and the pair continued drinking, their discussion mainly circling the easy topics of ship design and minor human-centric gripes. Laughter managed to break the banter up periodically, and it came easier as they continued drinking.

It was apparent now, Victus wanted to take the night off. Garrus could understand that and honestly, putting the war out of his mind at least for a little while did not seem like such a bad idea. He liked Adrien. If getting drunk was what he needed, Garrus was happy to help. They weren’t hitting Tuchanka until the day after tomorrow. There was enough time to nurse a hangover if need be.

A short time later, Victus was keel-deep in a story about his boot camp days when the door opened to admit two Alliance soldiers. It took Garrus a moment to recognize Whitmore and Campbell out of uniform. 

“Oh! I’m sorry, sir!” Whitmore apologized. “We didn’t expect anyone to be up still.”

“We can go somewhere else,” Campbell continued, already beginning to back out.

But Victus shook his head. “Nonsense, Officers. We’re intruding on your mess. Advisor?” he tilted his head toward the door, inviting the younger turian out with a small hum of his subvocals.

“We were just leaving,” Garrus agreed. He carefully stood, taking the half-empty bottle in one hand and his glass in the other. While his leg didn’t hurt so much now, his muscles were loose. Walking a straight line was not going to be a simple task. “After you, sir.”

Primarch Victus led the way, and the pair of women didn’t say another word as they stumbled passed them and into the hall. Well,  _ he _ stumbled. Adrien managed an admirable stride, his inebriation only betrayed by the uncharacteristic slowness of his steps. They headed straight down the corridor, Garrus making a brief pitstop in the washroom before joining his commanding officer.

When he arrived in his old room-- Victus’ current quarters-- he dropped onto the couch in his old spot beside Adrien. He was looking out at the planet below them. Tuchanka was just visible. His glass was loose in his hand, and his mandibles slightly drooped.

“Adrien?” Garrus said quietly, a note of apology resting in his second voice. Reality squashed their upbeat conversation.

He shook his head. “You did everything you could. I watched the video from Shepard’s suit camera earlier.”

A pang of guilt thumbed against Garrus’ keel. “I should have done it,” he said.

Victus turned to him, a serious expression painted across his plates. “And died in Tarquin’s stead?” His mandibles pinched in tighter against his face. “No. I should have told you about the bomb long before I assigned my son. He wasn’t ready.”

“You needed someone you could trust,” Garrus answered, his voice lowering to a whisper. “You made the best call you could with the information you had. Shepard is close with Wrex. I’ve served with them a lot longer. You were right to be skeptical of my loyalty.”

“Blame is a funny thing,” Adrien said as he stood up. His footsteps took him to the viewport where he leaned a forearm against the glass. “I’ve sent thousands of men to their deaths for the sake of the greater good.”

Garrus joined him, his footsteps unsteady but, for the moment at least, his mind clear. “A million people die in one place so that a billion can live.”

“A cold comfort,” the Primarch huffed.

“Is there any other kind?” Garrus asked. It was enough to get a small flick of Adrien’s mandible. He clasped one hand on the other turian’s shoulder, squeezing once. 

Adrien looked down at his hand for a moment before finding his eyes. Until now, Garrus had never realized what shade they were. A gold he could get lost in, given a chance. 

“There are other kinds,” Adrien’s voice dropped an octave, becoming as liquid as his gaze. Words caught in Garrus’ throat and he froze. Adrien took the silence as invitation enough to ensure Garrus understood his suggestion. He took a half step closer, and his hand found a comfortable perch on Garrus’ hip. “If you would like?”

He took a pace away, shaking his head. “I- I’m not-”

Adrien dropped his hip immediately and moved off to a more respectable distance. “It was simply an offer, Garrus. You don’t need to explain.”

Clearing his throat with a cough, Garrus tried to clarify. “It isn’t you.” He looked beyond the Primarch to the workbench. Saren’s tools were still neatly attached to the wall. A real book, some ancient turian novella, sat on the nightside table -exactly where Saren had left it. All at once, the memories of the turian he’d loved and lost twice came back. He closed his eyes, crest tilting down.

“You did not live here alone,” Victus suggested as he ushered Garrus back to the couch. They sat a half-metre apart, turned toward one another.

Garrus grabbed for his glass, using its weight to stabilize himself. “No. I didn’t. We served together while fighting the Collectors.”

Adrien hummed. “I met Magrim in service.” Garrus looked up, meeting the soft eyes of his superior. “Bootcamp, if I’m honest.”

“Is she-?” Garrus cut off as Adrien shook his head.

“Passed to the Spirits when Tarquin was young.” He grabbed his brandy and drained half the glass. Garrus knew that tactic. On Omega, he always drank too much when he thought of Saren. He would not judge the turian for it. It was not his place.

“I don’t think I could have told her what happened today,” the Primarch continued, and Garrus offered him the bottle. When Adrien offered his glass in return, he filled it. “And Spirits, do I miss her.”

Garrus understood the sentiment and drank a fair amount of his brandy before returning the glass to the table. “He’s probably dead,” Garrus offered.

Adrien just nodded, not requiring further explanation.

As the quiet took over again, the drive core humming away below them, the liquid in their glasses worked its way lower and lower down. Garrus found his chest tight and throat warm. It felt good to tell someone about Saren’s existence -even if he never used his name. Letting someone else in, someone who understood, helped.

The Primarch had lost his partner too, and then his son.

“Damn the Reapers,” Garrus said after a long while.

Adrien turned to him, his mandibles flaring in agreement. “Damn them.”

\---

Waking up after having a few too many drinks used to be an old habit. On Omega, he'd lost count of those mornings. But now it had been so long ago that Garrus had forgotten that stale-mouthed feeling and the ache that went all the way down to his bones.

He groaned, rolling onto his back, only to realize he had room to do so. Garrus wasn’t on his cot in the battery. He blinked a handful of times, clearing away the lingering sleepiness and found he was in his old room. In Adrien Victus’ bed.

“Shit.”

A small chuckle met him, followed by the sound of the door closing. Garrus pushed himself up on an elbow, looking over the mound of blankets to see the Primarch himself standing in the entryway. Two steaming mugs in his hands. “That bad, Vakarian?” Adrien’s voice was teasing. A smile spread his mandibles.

As he pushed himself the rest of the way up, the sheets fell away to reveal Garrus was missing his shirt. He shifted his leg and felt his pants catch. At least he wasn’t entirely nude. In the meantime, Victus had approached and was holding out a mug to him. “Thanks,” he mumbled, taking the hot beverage.

“I wasn’t feeling well this morning either,” Adrien said as he backed off to lean against the desk and sip at his kava. “The day shift started a few hours ago. You were scheduled to be with me until this afternoon regardless.”

Garrus ran a hand through the blades of his fringe. “I’m sorry, I don’t-”

“You’re fine, Garrus,” The Primarch hummed in a sympathetic tone. “We all go overboard once in a while. With this war… I’m surprised we haven’t seen more of it.”

He nodded, eyes drifting down to stare at the tiny air bubbles in the edge of his mug. “Did we-?” he cut off, not knowing quite how to voice forgetting he’d bedded a Primarch. Glancing up without moving his head, he saw Adrien was quietly chuckling to himself.

“Oh, you’d remember if we fucked,” he said rather matter-of-factly, his voice dipping down to that register he’d used the night before when he’d made the offer. “But no. We just slept.”

Garrus’ shoulders deflated a little, his worries ebbed in some ways, but in others, they did not. “I don’t exactly remember all of last night,” he admitted. “We were drinking, talking. We moved here from the lounge. Talked some more.”

“Right,” Adrien confirmed. “When it was time to sleep, the deck was already full of staff getting ready for their day. I suggested you sleep it off here. You didn’t want to sleep alone.” He let Garrus come to his own conclusion from there. When he spoke next, the humour from earlier had returned. "I can't say you're the first advisor I've woken up next to. Though I suppose this is a first for you."

Glaring at him, Garrus huffed and took a sip of kava. That at least helped soothe his throat if not his pride. “Can’t say I make a habit of sleeping with Primarchs, no.” Although he would privately admit to himself, he was in the habit of bedding those high above his standing. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Adrien said, pushing off the desk and wandering to the viewport. Below them, Tuchanka loomed closer than it had last night. It was the size of Adrien’s hand now. “I slept on the couch for weeks after Magrim died. If it hadn’t been for Tarquin-” he paused, a mournful sound emanating from his throat for a moment before it died out. “I don’t think I would have even managed to be inside our home.”

Garrus forced himself out of bed. His leg screamed at him as he limped across the room to stand beside Victus. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Adrien looked down at him, a questioning tilt to his mandible and a spark of curiosity in his eye.

“Sharing that,” Garrus told him. “It’s… hard. Watching the galaxy move on like no one else cares. Like the person you cared for is just a footnote.” He swallowed and scratched at the scar beneath his eye. “I don’t know where I’d be if not for the war.”

Adrien was watching his face, his eyes following the movement of his talons until they dropped away to his side. “For what it’s worth, I hope you find out what happened to him.”

\---

Weeks seemed to go by so quickly after Adrien left the  _ Normandy. _ After their mission on Tuchanka curing the genophage, the krogan were helping to fight back on Palaven and some of the other significant colonies. For the first time in this war, the Milky Way species were regaining ground instead of losing it.

Though his leg healed with the miracle of modern medicine, a persistent ache remained. Sometimes Garrus wasn’t even sure if he just imagined the pain or if it was real. Running missions constantly with Shepard probably didn’t help, he mused as he adjusted his stance for the thousandth time at the battery console. With just Shepard and five squadmates including himself and their new prothean addition, there weren’t many other options.

Liara always seemed to be busy with her Shadow Broker duties. EDI’s mobile platform was better suited to remain on the ship. James and Javik traded places with one another as Shepard’s third and Garrus was left to run most missions with the Commander. It made him miss chasing the Collectors, no matter how morbid a thought that was. At least with ten or more ground team members at any given time, everyone was afforded a break once in a while.

Combined with coordinating the Crucible project -Garrus was feeling the strain.

The  _ Normandy _ was on its way back to the Citadel where the Commander was planning to meet with the Salarian Councillor. There was some suspicion that Udina was dirty. He huffed a laugh. As if that was anything new.

_ “Garrus, _ ” EDI’s voice filtered in over the battery speakers.  _ “Shepard has requested your assistance for a mission.” _

His hands stilled over the keys, and Garrus looked up at the ceiling. “Mission?” he asked with a hum of curiosity as he shut out his work and headed for the workbench to grab his gear. “Where?”

_ “The Citadel appears to be under siege,” _ EDI explained in the same cool tone she used for every conversation. As though she hadn’t just told him the galaxy’s central hub was under attack.  _ “It is Cerberus.” _

“Damn it,” he swore and picked up speed. As soon as his rifle was attached to his back and thermal clip stores restocked, he headed for the elevator down to the shuttle bay as EDI directed. “As if we didn’t have enough shit to worry about.”

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Excerpt:**  
>  Behind him, the door swung open.
> 
> Saren’s head shot up, and he spun to see a harried-looking Doctor Chakwas standing in the entryway. “Doctor?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betas: [**White_Aster**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/white_aster/pseuds/White%20Aster) and [**Some_Writer**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Some_Writer)
> 
> Theme Music: [**Skillet - Awake and Alive**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2aJUnltwsqs)

  **Risk and Redemption - Chapter 3**

\---

For the past eight months, Karin rarely left the confines of her research lab in Shalta Ward. It felt good to be ‘above ground’ for once and sitting in the Presidium artificial sunlight, even if only for a few hours. The rays weren’t warm like a real sun, but when she looked across Huerta’s rooftop garden, she could almost imagine it on her skin.

Despite not setting foot on the _Normandy_ since the war began, she still felt responsible for all those who used to be under her care. More often than not, when they required medical attention, they were brought here, to the Citadel, where she could keep an eye on them. For the moment, there were three: Grunt, Kaidan, and Thane.

Grunt remained in a medically-induced coma after his run-in with the Rachni, more for healing’s sake than anything. The vibrant young krogan did not like bed rest. He was scheduled to wake before week’s end. Kaidan had improved rapidly over the last few days and was on desk-duty for another week before he would begin Spectre training. He visited the hospital for daily check-ups but was otherwise healed up. She’d seen him early in the morning.

And Thane.... Karin sighed internally. His case was dark. The drell sat across from her now. Despite his paleness, he’d met her with a smile and an invitation for tea in the gardens. Kepral's would take him soon.

“You never told me, Doctor...” Thane paused to cough into a handkerchief that never seemed to be far from his hand these days. “Why did you not rejoin the _Normandy?”_

Karin sighed, her cup clinking against the table between them as she put it down. “I’ve been working with Alliance R&D. As much as it pains me to admit, I’ve been better serving the war effort here than with Shepard.”

He nodded, his giant black eyes steady on her face. “I feel the same. I would only be a hindrance in my current state.”

“You’ve done your part,” Karin reassured him as she reached out to place a comforting hand over his. Thane looked down at it before meeting her eyes again.

“Thank you,” he began and was about to continue when a blaring alarm made them both snap to attention. Faster than Karin would have believed possible from a dying man, Thane was on his feet and had a pistol drawn. An explosion far away caught their attention.

“What was that?” Karin voiced for them both as she pulled up her omnitool. The Citadel’s emergency system was blaring a warning horn, and an automated message was waiting for her on the haptic interface.

\\\

CITADEL SECURITY AUTOMATED ALERTING SYSTEM

Warning: Civil unrest has been reported in the Presidium, Zakera Ward, Tayseri Ward, Bachjret Ward, Kithori Ward, and Aroch Ward. All residents are advised to evacuate the area. If unable to evacuate, barricade onsite until officers arrive.

\\\

She felt her stomach drop, but the Alliance veteran that lived within her old bones would not stand aside. She turned to Thane, the drell busy scanning the area, and gave the order. “The Citadel is under attack.” Thane’s focus snapped to her. “I need you to get me to Shalta Ward.”

He nodded without question and led the way to the staircase. “With me, Doctor.”

Together, they rushed downstairs and came face-to-face with their attackers. Familiar white and yellow armour was the first thing Karen noticed, and Thane wasted no time tossing the first trooper through the air with a biotic blast. He charged the man, shoved a pistol into his face and pulled the trigger. The visor glass exploded out in a rush of gore.

Thane seemed to hardly notice the screams of the other patients he’d just saved. A second commando was at the doors, and the retired assassin went for him next while Karen liberated the first trooper of his gun. It had been a long while since she held a pistol, but old training came back fast. She aimed at a third man who had set his eyes on Thane and pulled the trigger, downing the trooper as the drell finished with his target. The lobby was empty, for the moment.

Karen spun around, seeing one of the salarian doctors she knew. “Doctor Kithol!” She used the voice she knew commanded attention, and the salarian woman jerked at the address.

“Doc- Doctor Chakwas!” Kithol hurried to her side, eyes torn between herself and Thane. ”What’s going on? Who are these men?”

“It’s Cerberus,” Karen explained, keeping her tone calm and even, though her authority rang in the reception area, holding the attention of everyone, from the crying asari receptionist to the shaking batarian child holding a stuffed varren. “The Citadel is under attack. Doctor Kithol, enact emergency protocols. Once I leave, lock down the building.”

The salarian nodded vigorously, already working on her omnitool to get the job done. Shutdown protocol indicated that all doors were to be locked down and mass effect fields would be erected around the facility, keeping everyone inside safe.

“Until C-Sec gives you the all-clear, you don’t let anyone in or out. Do you understand?”

Kithol looked up from her tool. “Yes, yes. I understand. Emergency protocols. Yes.”

Karen scanned the room, looking for another doctor. Instead, she found a nurse. She would do. “Nurse T’Mari! I need you to go to room 312, wake patient Urdnot Grunt. There will be instructions on his chart. Tell him what’s going on and say Doctor Chakwas said it is his job to keep you safe. Is that clear?”

Despite the fact the asari was visibly shaken, she agreed with a brief nod and went on her way. With troopers already storming many wards, Karin did not have the luxury of waste assets. Grunt would be just fine, and he would heed her orders. Even on the _Normandy,_ Grunt had minded her warnings.

“Doctor,” Thane wheezed, appearing at her side. “We must go now.”

Looking at the drell, she was remiss to force him out of the hospital. But she had to. She was no match for Cerberus soldiers on her own, and he was in better condition than Grunt. They did not have time to wait for the krogan, nor find a more suitable escort.

“I’ll be back,” she said to Kithol and with that, they were gone.

The Presidium walkways outside were crawling with Cerberus assailants. The pistol she’d procured from the first soldier remained firmly in her hands as they ran and she used it a handful more times as they moved across the ward. They stocked themselves with thermal clips and medigel from the bodies they left in their wake.

When they encountered an ATLAS mech, they took cover inside one of the Presidium shopfronts, waiting with bated breath for it, and its complement of Cerberus goons, to pass by before they could continue. They had nearly reached Shalta. Just a few more blocks separated them from their goal.

“Why are we going to Shalta?” Thane asked without looking at her. His attention was entirely on the mercenaries lingering outside.

Karen grit her teeth. “I’ve been working on a cure for indoctrination. Saren is in lock-up at the Alliance R&D facility.”

That made him lose his focus. Thane turned to her, his eyes wide, his voice a harsh whisper. “You are serious?”

She nodded. “We don’t have time to argue. You have to trust me.”

“I do, Doctor,” he agreed. “I’ll get you there.” He glanced at his omnitool. “We should attempt a transmission on the emergency channels.”

“Go ahead,” she prompted. “I’ll see what I can find out on the Alliance frequencies.”

A few minutes of work gave them little to go on. The Citadel's public communications network was limping under strain. Emergency messages were still coming through, though, now warning people away from the docks as well as the affected wards. One enterprising journalist was also using a looping high-priority broadcast to inform everyone that C-Sec was under siege.

Just when they were about ready to move again, Thane managed to get something else.

 _“Normandy,_ this is Thane. Do you read? We require assistance.”

Karin felt her heart hammering in her chest. The _Normandy_ was here, somehow precisely where they needed to be. She alternated between watching their position and glancing at Thane’s face as he conversed with their old crewmates.

“Shepard, the Citadel is under attack. Cerberus troops are everywhere, and they’re in control of the docks.” He paused, obviously waiting for the Commander to reply. “No, I had to evade their commandos at the hospital. I’m in a Presidium storefront.”

Thane shook his head at the next question. “No. He left the hospital hours ago.” She guessed he was talking about Kaidan. “I’m with Doctor Chakwas. We’re heading for Shalta Ward.”

The conversation paused again, and Thane looked to the Doctor. “He doesn’t know,” she informed him. Because Shepard -of all people- had been kept in the dark as to Saren’s whereabouts despite her protests to Hackett. “Tell him.”

“We’re going to get Arterius,” he explained, and though Chakwas couldn’t make out Shepard’s words, she did hear the tone change. He was pissed. Regardless, Thane continued: “You should head for C-Sec headquarters, they’ve been compromised. As long as Cerberus is holding the headquarters, they have the station.” He paused a final time, their conversation coming to a close. “I’ll meet you there.”

Thane shut off the comm link and poked his head out above their cover to check that the coast was clear. “We should go,” he said and jerked his chin toward the exit.

Karin simply nodded and bit her bottom lip to stave off the worry she felt looming over her like a cloud. While she trusted Saren and all of her work over the past few months, she knew that she was releasing an unknown entity upon the Citadel. This moment was the perfect excuse to set him free and thus give him an opportunity to prove himself. But she had to hope beyond hope that it worked - that a single person was able to make a difference.

When they arrived in Shalta, the fighting was gone. The ward remained free of enemies, and Thane brought her as far as the facility’s entrance. Part of the defence mechanism of the building is that it fit in with the ward, merely an office building and nothing more. There were no soldiers outside; the building was reasonably inconspicuous considering what it held.

“Here it is,” she said to Thane as she keyed in her personal security code for the entrance and swiped her unique identification card.

“Are you certain this is the correct course of action?” Thane asked.

 _No, of course I'm not certain_ , she thought, while nodding briskly and saying: “I am.”

He inclined his head in acceptance. “Good luck.”

She grabbed his hand one last time. “You too.”

Like a shadow, Thane disappeared. Karin moved inside the facility, her lips pressed into a firm line and eyes set on her target. The office-like entryway was empty, the receptionist absent from her desk and the usual lingering officer or two missing. She spotted a lab coat thrown over the back of one of the elegant lobby chairs, and she put it on to hide the Cerberus pistol inside one of its deep pockets. There was no telling what she would find below ground. If there were enemies, she would need it, and if the facility were safe, then it would do her no good to be seen with a terrorist weapon.

Rushing to the elevator, the Doctor used her security pass again to descend to the lower levels. When she stepped out, she found herself amidst a flurry of activity. It appeared everyone on staff was here, even Saren’s usual guard. A few officers looked up, but recognition and open hands kept them from stopping her. Karin was one of the highest-ranking staffers here, an Alliance Officer since before Shanxi. She belonged here, and security protocols dictated she head for the labs. Nothing was out of place for the moment.

Alliance staff were busy enacting the building’s emergency protocols, armouring and preparing in case of a security breach. By the sound of it, they were going to lock down the facility if Cerberus breached Shalta Ward -as of yet the fighting was still far away.  Keeping her poker face securely in place, Karin strode through the automated security checkpoint and down the hall toward the labs. Her clearance allowed her to carry a weapon, and thus she crossed the gates without issue.

Her heels clicked against the metal floors as she went and the borrowed jacket billowing out behind her. She did not break stride for anyone and the few staffers she saw moved out of her way.

Safely inside, Karin approached the vault where she stored Saren’s amp. The device was used in her tests over the past months and in case the Reapers hit, she wanted it nearby. Typing in the code, Karin pulled off her glove to press a palm against the scanner. A few seconds passed by while the computer analyzed her prints and then it opened.

Grabbing the amp, she rushed off to Saren’s cell. Karin could only hope this would work.

\---

The knowledge that the Reapers had returned helped nothing.

Saren paced the confines of his cell. His hand throbbed. Breaking fingers to get Chakwas’ attention had not been the best idea, in hindsight. The bones had mended, but that didn’t mean the healing process wasn’t an annoyance. Especially so when there was nothing else to keep his attention.

His PT time had been cut shorter than usual in the days since he last saw the Doctor. There were no more interrogations, and he saw no one other than the six armoured guards. It was possible some of them rotated out, but he couldn’t tell. The only one who spoke, the Lieutenant, was the only constant. He did not even know her name.

Outside these four walls, a war was raging.

The temptation to break out got stronger each day. The Alliance would make it difficult, but he knew it was possible. Saren Arterius was not the galaxy’s best Spectre for nothing. His resilience and ingenuity had saved countless lives.

But none of that mattered because escape would destroy any credibility he’d gained. Saren would only be considered a liability, indoctrination blockers installed or not. Chakwas would not explain how the ‘cure’ worked. He agreed that it was for the best because if they worked the Reapers would know what they were doing and counteract it.

Saren stopped pacing at the desk and flattened his palms out on the smooth surface. He eyed his still-healing fingers. The temptation was there to break them again. At least then he might see Chakwas.

Solitary confinement was a cruel form of torture. The old Saren, before he’d met Garrus, would have managed much better. But now he’d learned to thrive in the younger turian’s presence. To say that he missed him was an understatement. At least last time, under the Council’s knife, he’d been drugged to hell for most of his confinement. And even then, it hadn’t lasted this long.

His prosthetic talons scratched lines into the metal, his frustration having no other outlet. There was nothing to hit, nowhere to run. His hand ached.

Behind him, the door swung open.

Saren’s head shot up, and he spun to see a harried-looking Doctor Chakwas standing in the entryway. “Doctor?”

“Catch!” She tossed an amp at him, and he caught it straight out of the air. A jolt ran up his spine as the familiar biotic tingle returned to his implants when he slotted it into place. He joined her at the door, taking the pistol she offered. There was no guard.

“Where-” he began to ask, but when he stepped into the hall, he saw an unconscious officer on the floor. His brow-plate raised, but he said nothing of it.

“It’s Cerberus,” she said. “The Citadel is under attack.”

Steel worked its way into Saren’s spine, not only at the mention of his location but also at the fact the terrorist organization was back. He snarled. “Not the Reapers?”

She shook her head, beginning to lead him down the corridor. As they walked, he could hear shouts and footsteps echoing from other levels. His cell was well soundproofed. “Right now, the problem is Cerberus. The Reapers are attacking the other systems and Cerberus is hell-bent on using them to their advantage.”

Saren’s hand tightened around the pistol grip. “What else?”

“C-Sec got attacked first, and they’ve been overwhelmed. Thane is en route to C-Sec Headquarters to assist. Shepard is on his way as well, he should be on the station soon-” an explosion rocked the building, cutting Chakwas off. Saren grabbed her arm to keep her upright. “Damn it. They’re here!”

“Get me outside,” he snapped, ushering her forward. “If Cerberus has already gone after C-Sec, they’ll go to the Council next. We cannot let that happen.”

A brief nod was all she gave as they started running, Karin used all her breath to keep stride with Saren down the hallway and to a secondary set of elevators, denoted by the signage. With a broad sweep of his biotics, Saren shoved the two guards in their way into the opposing wall before they knew what hit them.

Karin pressed her omnitool against the control panel and overrode the security protocols. Inside the lift, they had a minute barely to catch their breath, and during that time, Chakwas removed her omnitool. He had no time to ask the burning questions he wanted to about Garrus and the state of the galaxy. Instead, he followed the Doctor’s lead and hoped he would learn soon.

“This hall will take you outside,” she pointed left and thrust the omnitool into his hands. He stepped out, ready to run but Chakwas did not follow. “You’re in Shalta ward. Go!”

“Doctor-” he hesitated a moment but stopped when she shook her head. From the sounds of it, a battle was starting elsewhere in the building. She would not be safe here.

“You’ll move faster on your own, go!”

As always, the Doctor was right. Saren gave a firm nod and sprinted in the direction she’d given him, leaving her to descend back inside the facility. He shoved the omnitool into his pocket for the moment as it was too small to wrap around his wrist.

He skidded to a halt as he reached a pair of doors. Through the glass, he could see a few Cerberus troopers in the service-bay. He cracked his neck and flexed his hand around the pistol grip. For eight months he’d been confined and training alone. He was due for some target practice.

\---

For the first time in months, Saren felt free.

He was panting, his muscles ached in ways they had not in months, and he could feel the sweat pooled between his plates. But as he ran through the Presidium, his eyes seemed to drift to the artificial sky and the greenery whenever he didn’t need to focus on the Cerberus troopers. He could breathe. Liberated from the confines of four metal walls and dim LED lights, Saren could stretch and feel like his old self.

Biotics tore through his enemies. The pull behind his eyes grew stronger as he flexed the muscles that had only become stronger with his strict diet and training regimen. Despite the lack of armour and personal weapons, Saren felt unstoppable. Cerberus was numerous and outfitted with superior tools, but they were felled quickly by his skilled hands.

Saren knew the fastest route and rushed to Citadel Tower. He hacked his way in through the staff entrance.

Inside the elevator was the first chance Saren managed to look at the omnitool Doctor Chakwas had given him. Although as he turned it over in his hands, he was amazed to see it wasn’t hers. It was his. The Doctor must have been wearing it since the beginning. A smile tugged at his mandible, the woman was the best human Saren knew: crafty and intelligent yet caring beyond all else. He hoped she was all right.

The ‘tool still did not fit him, and he only had the time to turn on his locator beacon before he reached the top floor. Chakwas had said Shepard was on his way. He could only hope the Doctor managed to get in contact with him and explain the situation. He was an unknown for the moment. It could help or hinder. Saren prayed it was the former.

Slotting a new thermal clip into his pistol, he readied himself as the elevator door slid open. He stepped through the entryway and found the coast was clear, but carnage laid waste to the area. A fire burned in one of the garden boxes, and the walls were full of bullet holes. Bodies of both Cerberus troops and politicians alike littered the ground.

The last time he’d been here, it had been under _Sovereign's_ control. A weight settled into his gizzard as he hurried to the Petitioner's Stage. While a redesign took shape in the years between, the smell of cherry trees and ash brought him back to that day. He could hear gunfire and a scream.

Forcing himself to focus, Saren used his biotics to leap across the chasm and onto the podium where the Councillors typically stood. Their offices were off the right side corridor. Tens of bodies laid in the halls here, mostly Cerberus, but there were also bodyguards that Saren had known years ago among the dead. He traded his Cerberus pistol for one of the turian models laying beside its owner’s body.

Spectre Pallas. She had been a devil of a turian. The only other Spectre to rival his ruthlessness in the field and now she was dead. Her head split open, blood seeping from her nasal cavity and onto the tile. He did not feel remorse for her, she died protecting the Council and for her cause. Still, knowing Cerberus could take down such competent agents pained him -even if their tactic was more numbers and high powered gear than skill.

A scream caught his attention and Saren ran toward it, leaving Pallas’ body and all her dead foes behind.

When Saren made his final turn, he came face-to-face with the remainder of the Cerberus forces. He noted five remained and vowed to himself they would not stand for long. He snarled as he pulled once more at his biotics and charged the first man.

His barrier flickered as he caught a bullet, but it did not break. Saren shoved his pistol into the second trooper’s visor and shot him. The third he killed with a slice of his prosthetic talon’s across the little-protected space at his throat. Four died to a warp, and five to the remaining rounds in his thermal clip.

“Arterius!” a familiar voice yelled in surprise; Councillor Sparatus.

Calming his menacing growl down to a simmer, Saren spun on the turian. Sparatus held a pistol firmly in his hand, his military training not forgotten despite it being twenty or so years ago.

“Councillors,” he greeted, eyes scanning the other two who’d just poked their heads up from behind Sparatus’ desk: Udina and Tevos. Valern was missing. “Are you well?”

Sparatus’ weapon did not lower. “What are you doing here?” he demanded instead.

“Saving your lives,” Saren said cooly as he stepped over the threshold and inside. He wanted to snarl, to yell at him, but it would not help. Instead, he kept his composure and used the moment without enemies surrounding him to catch his breath. “Cerberus is attempting to take control of the station.”

Two more friendlies laid here amongst another ten Cerberus troopers, one a salarian whom he did not know and a human that he did: Alenko. Why the Alliance officer was here, he did not know, but at the least, it appeared the man was breathing. He had more important things to do than to question it or help him.

“You are supposed to be under Alliance arrest,” Tevos said, moving out of her hiding place and placing a gentle hand on Sparatus’ arm to lower his gun. He did, but only to hold it to Saren’s chest instead of his head. “You will forgive our confusion.”

Saren nodded. “Of course, Councillor. When the Citadel was attacked, I escaped to assist against the terrorist threat.” Saren’s eyes moved to Udina. The man’s eyes darted between the bodies around them and back to Saren. While the other two Councillors had calmed, Udina appeared more on edge.

Sparatus pulled his hand out of Tevos’ grip, aiming at Saren’s head again. “Why should we trust this, Arterius? You were on the _Normandy._ You worked for these Spirits-forsaken monsters!”

Saren’s mandibles snapped tight to his face, and a menacing growl emanated from his throat. “If it were my intention for you to die, you would have done so already.” He holstered the Spectre-grade pistol in the waistband of his pants. “I could have used the confusion to escape. Instead, I am here.”

“And the Reapers?” Tevos added. “How can we know you are not indoctrinated?”

“Cerberus is indoctrinated,” he told them, crouching next to the closest trooper body and pulling the man’s helmet off. Under it, his face was a ruin of electric-blue scarring and soulless eyes just like the husks. “I cannot prove a negative. You can only trust me to do my duty as I have sworn to.”

“And _Sovereign?”_ Udina shouted, pointing his finger across the desk where he still hid like a coward. “You tried to bring the Reapers here years ago!”

There was no denying it. So instead, Saren said the only thing he could. The same words he had spoken to Shepard so long ago. “I thought servitude was preferable to destruction. I was wrong.”

Noise from the direction of the petitioner’s stage caught Saren’s attention. He backed up, looking down the hallway and listening to the sound of boots against the ground. “We must go,” Saren told them. “Trust me or remain here and perish.”

Tevos was first to move, she followed Saren’s direction, and Sparatus was quick to accompany her. Udina lingered for a few moments before huffing and joining them. They stepped over bodies as they started deeper into Citadel Tower’s halls. A staff entrance would be their escape vector, and Saren led them onward.

\---

Garrus had been with Shepard on the journey through the relay from Illos, but even that could not have prepared him for the carnage he saw today. His feet pounded across the Citadel walkways, and the constant boom of his rifle echoed in his ears.

The Salarian Councillor was safe, and Thane stabilized for now. Garrus’ breaths were ragged as they charged across a shopping promenade and toward Shalmar Plaza. His leg was screaming at him with each step, but there was no time to rest. Udina was going to get the other Councillors killed if they didn’t manage to stop Cerberus.

“How the hell are there so many of them?” he shouted into the comm as their trio took cover against an ATLAS mech.

A glance at Shepard showed he was just as confused. The human shook his head and shrugged. “Fucked if I know, we just have to get to the Council before it’s too late.”

Garrus rose from cover and pegged the ATLAS twice through the cockpit windshield. The trooper inside slumped as the third Widow round splattered the man’s brain, gore coating the inside of the glass. Without the additional force, Liara and Shepard were quick to decimate the remaining Cerberus operatives. While the asari caught a group of them in a singularity, Shepard used a reave.

“Got a ride for you, Shepard,” Bailey told them over the comms. “Grab an elevator!”

“This way!” Garrus called out, and he led the charge up a staircase. He knew the Citadel better than Shepard from his C-Sec days, and the squad followed him immediately. As they passed through the doors, they were just in time to see the assassin and three Phantoms disappear into the elevator. “Damn it!”

“Over here!” Liara was already working on the doors of the other lift. She used her biotics to assist as she wrenched them open.

Shepard was first; he jumped down onto the elevator box, and Garrus and Liara followed. The human’s hand rose to his ear. “Okay, I’m in the shaft.”

“Hang on,” Bailey said. “This’ll be a fast climb.”

Garrus braced himself against one of the control boxes. Still, when the lift began to move, it jostled all three of them. Liara used her biotics to help keep herself and Shepard stable while Garrus was left to grip the rails for support. Inside a Citadel elevator felt like the world crawled by, out here without the inertial dampeners he felt his stomach lurch with the acceleration.

As Shepard and Bailey continued their discussion, Garrus reloaded his rifle and prepared to aim at the other car as it came in sight. “Kill his elevator!” Bailey ordered. “There’s a power conduit beneath it!”

That at least was something Garrus could do. He fired twice, and the lift shuddered to a stop. It slowed Cerberus for a short while, but Bailey informed them the assassin managed to get to another car and he was still on his way upward to the shuttle pad.

Another car came in sight, and it was Liara who had the idea this time. “That’s the Council’s elevator!” she shouted over the rushing air around them. “We can stop it!”

“Do it!” Shepard ordered, and Garrus was quick to shoot the first power conduit, slowing it down enough for them to come level. Before Garrus could figure out what was going on, the Commander was already mid-air. “Jump!” he called out, and both he and Liara followed him.

They slammed hard into the roof, Garrus’ leg giving out and sending him crashing to the surface. Thankfully, the bullets that started coming through the ceiling punched through around the first thump, Shepard’s, and not his. It took the turian a moment to get his footing and scramble out of the way as the elevator box decelerated and then stopped.

Below them, he heard a yell and then footsteps pounding out of the box. Shepard jerked the hatch open and dropped down, and Liara followed. It took Garrus a moment to join them, but soon he was chasing the Council out to the walkway, trying to forget his limp as a rush of medigel flooded his system.

Shepard and Liara had already skidded to a stop. What Garrus saw when he stepped into the open air was the last thing he expected. He nearly dropped his rifle.

Standing between him and the Councillors was Saren.

\---

With their escape shuttle a smoking ruin, Saren turned the Councillors around and stopped dead in his tracks. He’d been entirely prepared to throw a warp out and shoot the gunman in their way, but instead what he saw made his heart skip a beat.

His gun lowered to a safe direction, and he took an involuntary step toward Garrus before getting a hold of himself. His gaze moved to the Commander, painfully aware of the shock on his partner’s face. “Shepard? What’s going on?”

Behind him, Udina was quick to answer. “Shepard’s blocking our escape! He’s with Cerberus!”

“Quiet!” Saren snapped at the man without looking away from the squad. Doctor T’Soni stood on Shepard’s other side, her hands glowing with biotic energy.

Shepard lowered his weapon. “I can explain this, Saren.”

“Guns down,” Saren ordered. He kept his tone even, and he prayed to any Spirit that would listen that Shepard trusted him at least that much.

Shepard’s sunk first, and he stood straight, ordering Garrus and Liara to stow theirs as well with a raised arm. “We don’t have time to negotiate,” Shepard informed him. “You’ve been fooled, all of you. Udina’s behind this attack. The Salarian Councillor confirmed it.”

“Please, you have no proof!” Udina sneered. “You never do!”

“There are Cerberus soldiers in the elevator shaft behind us,” Shepard pointed backward to emphasize his point. “If you open that door, they’ll kill you all.”

Tevos spoke up. “We’ve mistrusted Shepard before, and it did not help us.”

Saren had to agree. Somehow in all their months together Shepard had never steered him wrong. And with Garrus still standing at his side, he knew they couldn’t be part of Cerberus. He let his pistol lower all the way to the ground and as his eyes caught Garrus’, the tension drained from his shoulders.

“We don’t have time to debate this!” Udina shouted again. “We’re dead if we stay out here. I’m overriding the lock.”

Saren turned his back on Shepard, raising his weapon again. This time at the Human Councillor. “Step away from the console!”

“To hell with this!” Udina drew a pistol and was halfway through aiming at Saren before his forehead exploded outward with a single rifle shot between his eyes. The traitor crumpled to the walkway, dead.

Saren turned to see Garrus’ rifle still raised and aimed across the balcony at his aggressor. His mandibles flared as Garrus closed the distance between them with a few long strides. He held his rifle loose in one hand at his side, uncaring of their audience as he pulled Saren in against his chest with one strong hand around the back of his neck. The cool metal of his gauntlet cut off any words Saren might’ve had to say.

Pressing his crest against Garrus’ temple, he let the younger turian hold him, and he gripped his armoured hip with his free hand.

“The door!” Sparatus yelled and only then did Garrus release him. He hauled his rifle up into his arms with a grunt and aimed at the elevator lobby. An omni-blade was cutting through the doors.

Garrus kept himself between Saren and the enemy. T’Soni and Shepard covered the Councillors. But when the door opened, it wasn’t Cerberus who waited for them. It was C-Sec.

“Bailey?” Shepard lower his gun again.

“Made it as fast as we could, Shepard.” The human looked beyond the Commander to Udina’s body. “Looks like you, uh... took care of things.”

While Shepard and the others were busy talking, the threat neutralized for the moment, Saren was able to take a pace forward and place a hand on Garrus’ shoulder. Beneath his fingers, he felt Garrus tense, and he heard his breath catch.

Garrus turned in his grip and stowed his rifle on his back. “How?” he asked quietly, the word almost strangled in his throat. His bright blue eyes pinched with confusion, and his mandibles had fallen loose.

“I will explain everything later,” Saren promised as he slid his hand inward to cup Garrus’ maxilla. Damn the fact the Council stood just a few metres away. It did not matter. His crest connected with Garrus’ again and he felt him push into the pressure this time.

“All right, people,” the C-Sec Commander’s voice boomed out in order. He released Garrus, and they both gave the man their attention. “Principals are evacuated. We’ve got a tunnel and a million more places to secure. Move it!”

The C-Sec officers escorted the Council into the elevator lobby, intent on leading them to a different safehouse, while Shepard hung back. The Commander approached them, holding a hand out. Saren took it, just as he had last time Shepard offered a handshake on Purgatory.

“I’ll take care of the Council,” Shepard said, his eyes flashed to Garrus for a moment before he returned his gaze to Saren. “Have you heard from Chakwas?”

“No,” Saren replied with a flick of his crest. “I left her at the Alliance facility in Shalta.”

Shepard rubbed his forehead, and his eyes pinched closed for a moment as he considered his next move. “Take Garrus,” he said. “Find her.”

“Understood,” Saren agreed as he looked to his partner. “We will report back.”

The Commander’s hand dropped, and he looked to Garrus for a moment before turning away to jog back to where the Councillors and C-Sec officers had disappeared to, leaving Saren and Garrus alone on the walkway. They did not waste time. They couldn’t right now. Not with the chance Doctor Chakwas might still be in danger.

They began moving in the direction of the nearest parking station, Garrus leading the way. The younger turian had drawn his pistol, leaving his other weapons on his back for the time being. To Saren’s surprise, they did not encounter any further resistance. Cerberus had either pulled back or exhausted their resources.

Approaching a private skycar, Garrus quickly hotwired their way inside. The red vehicle doors opened for them, and Garrus took the driver’s seat to begin work getting them airborne. It gave Saren the time to look at him, really look. He was on Garrus’ scarred side. The bandages were gone and left in their wake was a mess of scar tissue and cybernetics. Tracing his face, he found dulled plates and sunken eyes waiting for him. The appearance reminded Saren of how they’d found Garrus on Omega. At least this time, there was no rocket.

It wasn’t until Garrus managed to get the car airborne and Saren typed in their destination that they locked eyes. A thousand questions seemed to flash across his face, and he opened his mouth but could not seem to settle on one. Garrus standing at Shepard’s back had been a somewhat expected occurrence, and Karin had mentioned the human was en route. He was sure that Garrus hadn’t anticipated his presence, especially not in the middle of a war zone.

Saren took pity, settling his hand over Garrus’ on the centre console. “The Alliance was holding me at a facility in Shalta Ward where Doctor Chakwas was working on a cure for indoctrination. When the Citadel was attacked, she helped me escape.”

“Damn,” Garrus swore. He pulled away to rub his face, his hands steepled over the ridge of his nose. “I thought you were on Earth. Fuck. You’ve been here the whole time.”

“I believe so,” Saren replied. He wanted to comfort his partner, but at this moment he did not know how. He could read the lines of exhaustion in the way his shoulders rounded in on themselves.

Hands fell away from Garrus’ face, and he turned to look at Saren. “You said a cure. What does that mean?”

“Doctor Chakwas would not share the details of her work as a precaution. All I know is that I have not heard the voices in months. Other than testing it against a Reaper, we have no way to prove she cured me.”

Garrus nodded once, slowly. “Okay.”

Saren did not know what that meant, but there was no time to ask. They had arrived at their destination. The skycar descended to the street, and they hopped out. This time, Saren led the way -following his trail of carnage back into the facility.

The service-bay he’d escaped through was busy with Alliance soldiers. Saren hung back out of sight and let Garrus approach on his own. The Alliance appeared to have made it into a triage centre for soldiers and civilians alike. There were maybe forty people in the room, most of which lay on blankets across the floor. At Garrus’ bright blue and silver armour they did not shoot.

“Identify yourself!” an officer shouted, an assault rifle trained on him. Saren stifled a growl and tightened his hand over his pistol grip, ready to intervene if required.

“Advisor Vakarian of the Turian Hierarchy!” Garrus replied in a commanding voice that Saren remembered from the Collector base though it had grown more mature, possibly better used in the past months. “I am here by order of Spectre and Alliance Commander Shepard.”

The officer lowered his weapon. “Shepard?” he asked, his face scrunching in confusion.

“I have been ordered to retrieve Doctor Karin Chakwas,” Garrus continued.

Before the man could offer anything more, the human in question appeared. Karin had a bandage around her upper right arm and had a smudge of soot across her cheek. Her clothes bloodied, but it did not seem to be her own.

“Garrus! Good to see you.” Her eyes softened for a moment before she shooed the other officer away. “You appear to have seen combat. Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Garrus answered. “And you?”

“As well as can be expected after being shot,” she teased, moving her shoulder in a small shrug. The movement seemed to cause her little pain. “What are you doing here? Is the Citadel safe?”

Garrus gave her a curt nod. “Cerberus retreated, and C-Sec is working to clear the wards. Shepard sent us _-er-_ me to check on you.” He half-twisted to look in Saren’s direction for a moment, but the ex-Spectre did not catch the expression before Garrus returned to the Doctor. “I should go.”

“I agree,” Karin said looking in Saren’s direction before adding: “Quickly.”

“We’ll catch up with you later,” Garrus told her. “The _Normandy_ should be docked overnight at least, I expect.”

With that, Saren watched Garrus give her all of the medigel he’d collected before heading back into the hall to join him. They slipped back outside to the borrowed skycar. Again, Garrus took the driver’s seat, but his hands stilled over the interface. He appeared uncertain of where to send them next. Saren wanted to let him take his time, but after a few minutes, anticipation got the better of him.

“Garrus?” he said, trying to bring the other turian out of his head.

He did not look up from the console. Instead, his voice was quiet as he said: “Shepard knew you were here.”

Saren’s mandibles pinched in against his maxilla. Garrus was right. There had been no surprise in the human’s eyes when Saren was standing between him and the Council, and Shepard knew about Chakwas. Garrus’ reaction made sense now: both the very public display of affection and his shock on their way here.

Without any way to know what Shepard knew, Saren reached out, retaking Garrus’ hand to pull him back from the dark places his mind had begun spiralling into. Hesitation was not typical of Saren, but all the same his subvocals wavered over his next words. “I do not know how long I will be. Can- can we forget about Shepard, just for a few minutes?”

He heard Garrus swallow and a small nod followed it.

“Let’s go home,” Saren suggested, and Garrus drew his hand back to type in coordinates. As the car rose from the walkway, he watched the battle tension seep out of his partner.

“Home sounds good,” Garrus whispered, finding Saren’s hand again and holding it tightly in his as he met his eyes. “I’ve missed you.”

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3
> 
> I'll be taking a short intermission to finish the next arc. I hope you're all enjoying the roller coaster so far!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Excerpt:  
> “No wonder you and Shepard started getting along, neither of you seems to be able to stay dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been having some trouble getting this story onto the digital paper, so I hope you don't mind this shorter installment. I really enjoyed writing it!
> 
> Betas: [**White_Aster**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/white_aster/pseuds/White%20Aster) and [**Some_Writer**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Some_Writer)  
>  Theme Music: [**Ashes Remain - In too Deep**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q6kE62dTN7E)
> 
> NSFW: Stop at “Spirits, indeed,” --- resume at “We should talk,”

 

 

**Risk and Redemption - Chapter 4**

\---

Garrus keyed in the coordinates for the docking bay and leaned back in the seat. His head was going a kilometre a second. Saren was out of prison and not indoctrinated -at least as far as Doctor Chakwas could prove.

One hand rose to press against the ridge of his nasal plates, between his eyes. The cool material of his glove helped soothe the growing headache beneath his crest. Battle echoed in his ears, and a slight ringing sound broke through the quiet of the skycar. 

“The  _ Normandy _ might not even be docked yet,” Garrus said, closing his eyes for a moment against the artificial sunlight. “I should call Joker.”

“Allow me,” Saren replied.

Garrus unlocked his tool and dropped an arm over the centre console so Saren could call the ship on his comm unit. He heard the rustling of fabric, and he hummed an affirmative, keeping his eyes shut for a while longer. The medigel was wearing off, and he did not have any more with him as he’d given it to Chakwas. The people she was caring for needed it more than he did, there was no denying that, but it didn’t mean his leg hurt any less.

_ “Normandy, here. What’s up Garrus?” _

“Moreau, this is Arterius.”

Garrus’ mandible flickered with amusement at Joker’s dumbfounded ‘uh.’ And he let out a small chuckle when the pilot fell back on humour to try and deal with his surprise.  _ “No wonder you and Shepard started getting along, neither of you seems to be able to stay dead.” _

“I am a Spectre, after all,” Saren said, and Garrus’ eye slit open just in time to catch a wry smirk whisk across his plates before it was gone again.

_ “You’re not actually a ghost, right? Hey, is Garrus there? Tell me he’s not actually a ghost. I’m terrified of ghosts.” _

The younger turian took pity on his friend and replied before Saren could push him. “He’s real, Joker.” Garrus shared a glance with his partner before settling back in the driver seat. “I should know.”

_ “So-” _ Jeff intoned for a long moment before postulating:  _ “Let me guess, you need a getaway driver?” _

“Not quite,” Saren replied before lapsing into a brief explanation of the past hour including Chakwas whereabouts and Shepard’s. Their conversation lasted no more than a minute. The  _ Normandy _ had not docked, Jeff was estimating another hour or two before they received clearance. “Perhaps one of the apartments?” Saren suggested instead.

Opening his eyes, Garrus dropped his hand from his face to look at the console. His apartment was in a block of Vakarian owned holdings, it should still be available, but he couldn’t be sure. And they were closer to Palaven ward... Saren would want some of his things regardless. “Yours,” he told him, typing in the new destination.

A silence came over them both again. It was unlike their evenings on the  _ Normandy, _ as instead of a comfortable atmosphere the skycar was tension filled. It felt more to Garrus like the day they hunted Sidonis, though instead of a building rage, all he felt was exhaustion.

Eventually, the skycar began its descent to drop them in a rooftop parking space. Saren stepped out of the vehicle first. Garrus followed a little slower and was grateful when the other turian offered his arm. A comforting rumble preceded Saren’s question: “Are you well?”

And Garrus did not answer right away. When he did, deciding on the truth, he shook his head and let the tiredness show though just a little more. “No, I’m really not.”

“Let me help,” Saren told him as he slid Garrus’ arm over his shoulder. He wished he could feel Saren’s warmth, but the armour blocked it, leaving him cold.

Together, they headed for the elevator and down to the fifteenth floor. The familiarity of the halls and the warm scent of Palaven did nothing to put Garrus’ mind at ease. It only reminded him that he had not heard from his family and his homeworld was burning. Taking joy from Saren’s return felt almost wrong.

The apartment looked no different than the last two times he had been there. Two glasses sat collecting dust on the island, and the kava table in the sitting area was askew from their fight. They did not linger in the living space, Saren directed him straight to the bedroom. A smile forced its way onto Garrus’ face at the sight of the rumpled blankets. Damn, it had been another year since they’d last been here. It somehow felt much further away, yet closer all at once. At least the high-end filtration system kept the dust out of the air as it didn’t seem Saren had a cleaning service on retainer.

Saren eased him down into the lone chair and then set about removing his armour. When Garrus attempted to help, his hands were brushed away. So instead, Garrus spent his time watching Saren as he worked. The older turian’s eyes were intensely focused as he pulled off the armour, piece by piece. His gaze scrutinized each part, looking for dents and scratches that would need to be corrected later. Parts that required repair -probably more than there should have been- he piled separately from those that needed a simple cleaning.

Once Garrus was down to his undersuit, standing with a hand on Saren’s shoulder to support himself, he felt a twinge of self-consciousness. He looked away as Saren’s talons tensed against his leg. The nasty wound on his thigh became visible. Despite the weeks between, and more than a few applications of medigel, it hadn’t healed. Even modern medicine was no match for improper aftercare and constantly reopening the injury.

“When did this happen?” Saren whispered. By the tone, his question sounded rhetorical, and Garrus did not answer. He let his partner ease him back down into the chair and watched him disappear toward the bathroom.

A few minutes later he returned with a medical bag and a glass. Saren offered him some medication from the kit and the water. “It’s infected,” he explained.

Garrus took them and waited for the admonishment he expected to follow. But it never came. Instead, he looked down to see Saren cleaning the injury. He took his time, wrapping a clean bandage around his thigh once he finished. After that, he spent time looking Garrus over for other wounds that weren’t immediately apparent. He treated a few more bruises and scrapes before helping Garrus to the bed. 

Garrus let himself fall into the sheets, and he groaned as they enveloped him. Half of it was from exhaustion and the other from sheer relief. Saren was here, sliding between the covers with him pulling him against his bare chest -when Saren got undressed, he didn’t know. Garrus’ body went lax, the pain of not just his leg but the last few months, too, ebbed away with the cadence of Saren’s breath.

Despite the galaxy burning outside these four walls, Garrus could finally let himself rest.

\---

Saren waited until Garrus was dead asleep before he carefully slid out of bed. Exhaustion alone would keep him asleep for a few hours, let alone the pills Saren administered. He collected Garrus’ armour and brought it to the living room to deal with later. Now that his partner was taken care of, he could do his post-mission tasks.

In the kitchen, Saren found a Cabal supplement in the fridge, and despite it being recently expired, he downed the entire beverage in a few quick gulps. Even being well-fed and rested, using his biotics earlier had taxed his system. The Cerberus troops he encountered did not cause him to overexert himself, but his amp had still taken some time to cool after he and Garrus left the Councilors in Shepard’s care.

Heading for his office, Saren began to mull over his next steps. Freedom would not last long, he knew that, but he did intend to make the most of it, by taking care of Garrus not just in these few hours but going forward, too. He booted his computer terminal, and while it loaded, he pulled apart the bracelet the Doctor had given him to take out the omni-chip. It did not take much effort to install it on a model of his own. Inserting it subdermally would be fruitless: the Alliance would remove it again.

Next, he spent time ordering supplies for the  _ Normandy. _ Looking at Garrus, it was easy to see he had not been taking care of himself. Dulled plates and hide pulled tight over muscle meant he hadn’t been eating. His injuries weren’t well cared for, meaning their doctor was incompetent, so he chose some higher grade medical supplies that Garrus could self-administer if needed. Lastly, he tossed in a few comfort items to the order: Garrus’ favourite type of kava, some civilian clothes, a plate scrub, and other basics. Spirits only knew what he had aboard.

It did not take much time to research the state of the Reaper war. Apparently, Shepard had allowed a reporter onto the ship, and this ‘Diana Allers’ had been reporting on their exploits. Peace between the krogan and turian people was no small feat. Multiple systems were under siege, Earth worse off than all but Khar'shan. With help from the krogan, Palaven appeared to be faring better. As of yet, Sur’kesh and Thessia were untouched.

Saren slumped in his chair, the movement uncharacteristic but fitting of his mood. It was no wonder that Garrus was exhausted and a part of him wondered at how the rest of the crew was faring. He skimmed a few additional reports, gleaning whatever information he could about the state of the war and of Palaven in particular.

He stopped when he heard an omnitool ping from the other room, the sound steadily growing louder as it continued to ring without being answered. Saren hurried out of his office and into the bedroom where Garrus was bleary-eyed and had just managed to accept the call. 

“Vakarian here,” he said with a voice so rough Saren was confident the translators would have trouble making it into coherent words.

_ “What’s going on, Garrus? Are you alright?” _ That was Shepard’s voice, and he sounded a combination of pissed and worried. The unspoken:  _ where are you?  _ resonated with Saren. 

Garrus inhaled sharply, pushing himself up in bed to sit and he rubbed at his crest again. “We’re fine, Shepard.  _ Normandy _ wasn’t docked, so we’re at my apartment.” If Shepard heard the lie in Garrus’ voice, he didn’t comment on it. “Chakwas had set up a triage centre in Shalta. She was good and will come by later.”

_ “It’s been hours, Garrus. You weren’t responding to hails.” _

“Hours?” he mumbled, dropping his hand to poke at the omnitool on his wrist and bring up some program or another. “Damn.”

Saren crossed the room, wordlessly offering to take the call while Garrus got his bearings. He flicked his crest in acknowledgement and sent the call to Saren’s tool. “Shepard, how did the Council fare?”

_ “They’re fine,” _ he responded with a sigh.  _ “I think they may finally believe us about the Reaper threat. And because of that, they may be willing to release you to my custody again. I have a little more work to do before that can happen.” _

The tightness residing in Saren’s chest eased. He hadn’t even known it was there until Shepard suggested freedom may be more permanent than he expected. “What do you need?” he asked, urgency filtering into his tone. He heard Garrus shift but refused to look at him for the moment.

_ “You have to turn yourself in. Not to me, but another Spectre. Preferably before they start looking for you,”  _ Shepard told him, and again the unsaid words were heard loud and clear. If he ran now, any scrap of trust he’d earned by saving the Council would be gone. It was a risk giving himself up willingly, but without yet another sacrifice he would have no redemption.

_ “Bau is heading up to the Council’s security team,” _ Shepard continued.  _ “He arrived on the Citadel an hour or two ago.” _

Saren’s crest dipped in a needless nod. “I will contact him.”

_ “The Normandy is docked. Have Garrus meet me there once you’re squared away with Bau.” _ Shepard signed off and left silence in his wake.

The ex-Spectre ambled, sitting down on the edge of the bed beside his partner. Saren gave Garrus every opportunity to move away or argue, yet he did not take it. Instead, Garrus took his hand and pulled him down to the sleep-warmed sheets. There, Saren had the opportunity to be cared for. Garrus rumbled a reassuring note and nosed into his neck. His broad arms encircled his waist.

“I missed you,” Saren told him in a whisper. His eyes felt heavy, and he closed them, taking his time to appreciate Garrus’ warm breath on his hide and the rhythmic pace of his chest rising and falling.

“I’m here now,” Garrus replied, squeezing him just a little tighter. 

Saren twisted around and wrapped one hand around the back of Garrus’ neck, pulling their crests together. His artificial hand closed over the ridge of Garrus’ hip through the blankets -yet Garrus still shivered, and his breath hitched. Eight months of celibacy made his cock twitch behind his plates and encouraged him to begin teasing the delicate hide under Garrus’ fringe.

When the other turian moaned, Saren took it as invitation enough to continue. He rolled Garrus onto his back, moving with him to start teasing his way down his mandible with teeth and tongue. His hands began to trail across the lean body before him with practiced ease. Months apart left him with only dreams of how this felt and little way to relieve himself with the Alliance’s watchful eye.

Garrus arched up into him and grabbed at his hips. He angled his head back to give Saren room to explore his throat and leave behind small marks with his teeth. Saren was gentle, following up his bites with soothing licks. He could taste the leftover sweat and ash from the earlier fighting, and he ignored it. The bitterness was nothing compared to the thought of never getting to do this again. Spirits only knew how much he’d dreamed of this.

It took a few minutes before Garrus’ hands managed to find their way from his hips up to his waist. He teased the softer hide, pulling a shuddering breath from Saren and making his arms quake. He grabbed at the blanket to stop himself from digging his talons into Garrus’ arm, barely a few touches and his plates were ready to come apart.

The other turian pushed himself off the pillows and gave Saren’s throat the same attention he experienced. Garrus’ purr vibrated through him, and his breathing quickened in response. 

“Let’s move to the shower,” Garrus suggested quietly against his aural canal once he’d followed the line of Saren’s zygomatic horn back to lave at the tip.

A grunt of assent had Saren tugging Garrus to his feet behind him. He had the forethought to help him balance on the uninjured side but pulled him along a little quicker than strictly necessary considering the shower was only a few metres away, making his partner chuckle. 

No sooner had they crossed the threshold than Saren pressed Garrus against the tiled wall as he hit the panel to start the water. A few seconds was all it would need to bring steam into the room at his preferred temperature of 44C. Both he and Garrus groaned as they stepped beneath the heated spray. Human showers kept temperatures 41C and below, far too cold for proper comfort.

Water came in from two sources, one of either side of the tiled and glassed-in box. It kept them both beneath the warmth at all times. Saren closed the door behind him, and the room fogged up within a matter of a minute. He watched Garrus lean his head back, letting the water run across his plates and scars alike. His hands found purchase against Saren’s shoulder and hip, and he let out a long, pleased sigh. “Spirits.”

Saren couldn’t help the small chuckle that left him, and he moved back in to lick a bead of water off Garrus’ throat. The younger turian bucked into him, gripping his hip tighter to keep upright. Garrus’ hand slipped along the length of his shoulder to cup around the back of his neck to trace the exterior of his amp port. “Spirits, indeed,” he mumbled against Garrus’ hide.

Soon, hands made their way lower, and Saren gasped as his plates parted first. The sensation of being held in Garrus’ warm, calloused palm almost made him come undone right then and there. He held himself up with his artificial hand against the wall beside Garrus’ head.

“Good?” Garrus asked, teasing him with a long pull over his length from base to tip.

Saren inhaled sharply, following Garrus’ hand with his hips. “More,” was his near-silent demand and Garrus obliged. The bare, tempting touches became deliberate strokes and picked up in speed. Even as Garrus’ length began to peak out from his sheath, he didn’t falter. Saren watched, gripping his partner’s hip with his free hand. “Garrus,” he moaned as his eyes finally refused to stay open.

He came undone. Months of stress ended in a heated rush against Garrus’ abdomen. It was soon washed away by the water, despite Saren slumping forward against him. And instead of shying away or demanding attention for himself, Garrus just held him. 

Eventually, the aftershocks faded, and Saren caught his breath. When he did, he took some of his weight back and moved far enough away to see the lopsided grin on Garrus’ face. Saren pulled Garrus’ crest against his own, his eyes slamming shut and grip tightening against him as all the guilt welled up in his chest.

When he spoke, his words were stilted. “I should have-”

Garrus’ fingers covered his mouth, shutting him up, and Saren felt him shake his head. “Don’t,” he said. “You did what you had to.”

The words Saren had decided on after months of solitude died on his tongue. A thousand times or more he’d gone over every angle: anger, silence, depression. Never in a single scenario did Garrus forgive him. Saren had not let himself consider it. He couldn’t bear to.

He wanted to say more but, instead, let Garrus’ hand slide down to cup his jaw. He relished the feeling of Garrus’ hand resting on his hip and his thumb teasing the ridge ever so gently. It was easier to let it go, to not talk. And so he allowed himself give in.

Saren pulled Garrus’ hand back to his mouth, and he nipped at the other turian’s palm before sliding down to his wrist and then slowly, all the way up his arm. Garrus head tilted back and away, allowing Saren to lavish his throat before working his way lower.  

The water continued to beat down on his back even as he got down to his knees. The tile was harsh, but bearable, as Saren found his way to Garrus’ sheath. The metal of his artificial arm was well-warmed by now, and he traced a finger all the way up Garrus’ injured leg before pulling it up and over his shoulder. A glance up showed his partner’s skeptical grin and lust-filled eyes.

Saren’s attention dropped back to his task. It was not long before Garrus fell from his sheath and bucked toward Saren’s mouth. Garrus’ hands found purchase; one against the faucet and the other between the blades of Saren’s fringe.

Hearing Garrus moan his name was pure bliss. Saren worked his way lower, dipping his tongue between Garrus’ plates and against his rear opening. They remembered the feeling and split apart just as his seam had. His tongue pressed inside, making Garrus go rigid above him. 

“Fuck-”

It appeared as though Garrus was just as pent up. It took almost no time at all for him to go bow-legged and finish in a heated stream down the shower drain. Saren worked his way back up to his feet, carefully supporting his partner against the wall until he caught his breath.

They washed up, enjoying every last moment of heat until there wasn’t a centimetre of plate and hide left untouched. Afterwards, they fell back into the bedroom and the sleeping nest together intertwined in one another’s arms. No matter how much Saren avoided sentimentality in the past, he had to admit he’d grown too fond of Garrus to care for stoicism - especially after months apart.

“We should talk,” Saren said. The words muffled as he spoke them against Garrus’ cowl. They were laying on top of the blankets with Garrus’ back to Saren’s chest. “I am not well informed.”

Garrus blew out a long breath. “I suppose not.” He pulled away, moving to the edge of the bed to sit. “The Reapers appeared about two mo-”

“No,” Saren shook his head, following Garrus up and wrapping his real arm around Garrus’ waist while returning his crest to the rim of his cowl. “Not the Reapers. You. Tell me everything.”

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


End file.
